Krakow Euro 2012

A dragon descends upon Krakow, cutting through clouds before hovering over the Wawel castle…
In the modest offices of Krakow’s Euro 2012 organizers, the chief director Barbara Janik has just shown a Power Point re-imagination of Krakow’s legend, one linking the fire-breathing dragons of Krakow’s mythical roots to the burning, living reality of present opportunity--a chance to host matches of the Euro 2012 football championships. After Ukraine and Poland won the joint-bid to host this significant event, UEFA’s initial selection of host cities (four in each country) designated Krakow with “reserve” status. To Janik and other key members of her young staff that I meet there is nothing “mythical” about the eventual hosting of Euro 2012 matches by Krakow. However gimmicky and kitsch the dragon video is (complete with a soundtrack anthem, Go! Krakow!), in my interview with them I learn that Krakow’s preparations and work expand far beyond promotional videos, and are far from the readiness problems that haunt the other potential cities.

“[UEFA’s] criteria are based on the understanding that everything is a series of interconnected vessels, everything must be considered as complimentary to each other,” Barbara Janik explains. “For example, it is not enough to have a decent stadium if there is not an adequate number of beds, or if there is not an airport terminal large enough to satisfy all the football fans.”
Janik and her colleagues know that in order to satisfy UEFA and hold a successful tournament there is more to be done than simply flaunt Krakow’s cultural clout and tourism capabilities. Apart from the evident stadium priority (see section), Krakow’s most pressing projects involve transport issues, including a building of new airport terminal, important road works, modernization of the key railways into the city, expansive underground parking lots. It’s a load, but the Krakow office assures that they’re on top of things. Even security dynamics are already being anticipated, although, as the Security Coordinator, Marcin Plachno, explains, Krakow enjoys a quite expansive history of large-scale security as a result of frequent visits from pope John Paul II.
The planning and progress of these projects are presented to me with a various charts and graphs and video animations, but even more impressive is the knowledge gained that contracts and the financing for these substantial projects have been secured. An essential difference between the infrastructure projects in Krakow and the Ukrainian cities that our Open It! team has covered is that many of the projects in Krakow were pre-existing projects before the development of Euro 2012. Indeed Wisla Stadium renovations had begun as early as 2004 with a long-term plan. As Janik says, “these projects are labeled as Euro 2012 projects so that they can be coordinated together, furthermore everything must be considered according to how it fits the long-term needs of the city as well.” Unlike in Ukrainian cities, one gets the sense that Krakow looks at the Euro 2012 tournament not as a reason for development, but as an opportunity to showcase its development and to push even further. And whereas UEFA applies the pressure to other cities, Krakow is waiting impatiently for UEFA. “Once they give the official announcement can we really work, we could be doing even more.” As if they weren’t doing enough already.

Stadium

If there’s a single reason that Krakow was originally designated a reserve city it was because it didn’t possess a UEFA-standard stadium. When asked if he is pleased with the progress of Wisla Stadium project, Stadium Coordinator, Szymon Michlowicz dispenses with the formality and beams like a proud parent. “I feel great,” he says, “I feel great.” Ironically, Krakow stands above the capital cities Warsaw and Kyiv in terms of its stadium progress.
Having finished the tendering process, construction of the new east stand of the stadium began in February, and after that construction will begin on the west stand. All additional expansion and modernization is scheduled to be finished June 2010, at which time Krakow should boast a stadium completely in line with UEFA “Elite” stadium standards, with a capacity around 33,000 (about the same as Dnipropetrovsk’s new stadium) and featuring expansive VIP areas and modern business conference rooms. Until now the stadium has not needed to be closed for construction, but this coming June it will be necessary to close for one year.
“Our stadium is not the biggest one, in fact,” Michlowicz clarifies, “it’s the smallest in Poland, but we’re on time and I think it will be perfect for our Wisla Krakow Club.” Something in this statement is indicative of a major difference between the Wisla Stadium project and the stadium projects in Dnipropetrovsk and Donetsk. Whereas in these Ukrainian examples, funding for the stadium came largely from local oligarchs, the 90 million Euro budget of Wisla’s construction is coming entirely from city and federal money as Wisla Stadium is a municipal building, owned by the city and operated solely by the Wisla Krakow FC. Echoing Krakow’s long-term planning beyond the one-month Euro 2012 event, the stadium project is more largely a city project, with the future interests of its local team in mind.

Twins (?)

Barbara Janik and her staff are understandably concerned with Krakow. The latest announcement (one that the Krakow staff does put much credence in) is that UEFA will make its final designation of host cities in mid-May. Until the Krakow office confirm their confidence that their city will be chosen and until they know what host cities will be in Ukraine, it is hard for them to speculate about how they might be able to work with their Ukrainian counterparts, but the willingness is certainly there.
“There has been some discussion about twinning of Ukrainian and Polish cities,” Janik says. With close physical proximity and shared history, even sharing statues of the Polish poet, Adam Mickiewicz, without doubt, Lviv, is Krakow’s most likely twin. Janik reiterates this, “historically, Lviv and Krakow have close ties. We have a hundred year history of football in Krakow; Lviv’s is even longer.” Stadium coordinator Szymon Michlowicz quickly fills in the details: “fifteen years longer.” One could only imagine the dynamic coordination of travel, accommodation, and tourism programs that the Lviv-Krakow twins could conceive. Janik tells me that last year the mayors of Krakow and Lviv signed a letter agreement to work together. But about coordination between other cities she states “to some extent this work is being done, but cooperation will be defined after UEFA makes its host designations and we know the match schedule.”
Whereas Lviv and Krakow make quite a natural pairing, it seems unclear to me how other Ukrainian-Polish cities could twin, not only because of geography, but more so because and the completely divergent identities. In nominating Poland and Ukraine to host this event, UEFA stressed their desire to expand the sphere of football into Eastern Europe. In May, Poland will celebrate five years in the European Union; Ukraine, for reasons largely political and economic seems far away from EU membership (if they want it). From the vantage point of Ukrainians it certainly feels like there is more of a national symbolic stake involved for Ukraine than for Poland.
When I relate these feelings to the members of the Krakow office, Janik replies with her only break from the calm pragmatism than she’d met other questions. “If I can use such lofty words,” she says, “this event will be the most pro-social, pro-national project ever carried out by UEFA. Poland is still a very young European country and we still remember the process of harmonization with EU standards. And I believe it can be designed as such that we [Poland] can serve as a kind of road sign to Ukraine because we share a similar cultural and historical experience. We have to bear in mind we are both Slavic nations with a Slavic character.”
Twins? If other Polish cities were as well prepared as Krakow, we might easily redefine this relationship as big sister-little sister. “We are talking about parts of the world neglected by previous political systems. We can’t impose our [Poland’s] ways upon anyone, but rather the main point is to combine our potentials.”

Out of all the ethnic food that Dnipropetrovsk has to offer, there is none more prevalent than sushi. From the "Japanese Kitchen" to the "Sushi Bar" I've tried much of it, and have to say that, apart from the Atlantic salmon, sushi made by Ukrainians isn't all that different from the sushi I've had in Seattle, made by actual Japanese people. Sushi here is sushi, as well as pizza is pizza, however much it may differ in the thickness of crust and cheese. Mexican food, however, is another story. There's a fast food institution throughout Ukraine that advertises its selection of burritos, tacos and the like, but the actual product is something that even a Seattleite like myself, closer to Vancouver than Tijuana, can easily say is certainly not Mexican. Who's ever heard of a burrito filled with shredded carrots and potato, or a taco with pickled red cabbage and, again, potatoes. Potato House, of course! If the name didn't already tip you, Potato House serves *Ukrainian* and can only claim itself as a "Mexican" restaurant by the fact that its transliterated the words "burrito" and "taco" on to it's Cyrillic menu. Don't expect to find any guacamole or Corona here. No, they only serve the local brews--Obalon, Slavutich. Oh and there's nothing about Potato House. Somehow it's managed to confuse Mexicans with indigenous Americans. No, you won't find mustached, Sombrero-wearing caricatures on the walls of Potato House, but you will find the most absurd characterizations of Native Americans this side of a Cleveland Indians ball cap. Not only is there logo a silhouette of a ceremonial-garbed Sitting Bull, the interior of the place prominently features wood-carved statues of Sioux and Mohican figures smoking the good old peace pipe.

As much as the Ukrainians confusion (assimilation?) of Mexican and American Indian cultures makes for a good laugh, it's blatantly indicative of a kind of culturally ignorant assimilation and novelization of all those who are non-White that happens in Ukraine.

A frequently played commercial for a popular brand of crunchy bread snacks advertises a new variety made from dark rye. Dark brown in color, they are distinctly different from lighter colored varieties. The commercial of course plays upon this obvious distinction by depicting a scene in which two dorky white kids gain entrance to all black hip-hop club by way of showing there packages of the new "black" snack packs. The slogan uttered by the narrator at the end can be translated as "pure black."
The racial subtext here is clear and exactly what they wanted: our new dark-colored bread snacks are as new and exotic and cool, just like black people. This is the kind of underlying racism that perpetuated in American media in the '60s or '70s, now they still exist, our racial subtexts are much more sophisticated and moved beyond snack mix--at least to sneakers.

No Ukrainian would argue that Ukraine isn't a White country. They know it, and they readily admit it. The unsettling part is that ever since I've been here, just about every Ukrainian I've had this conversation with has attempted to assert to me that because their country is void of much ethnic diversity that somehow they are immune to racist inclinations. Their claim is that because they don't have a modern history of ethnic populations to oppress and marginalize (save for Jews and Gypsies, of course) their country couldn't possibly hate other people. Right. Maybe they don't *hate* other people, but they fail to see that there isn't much distinction between hatred and the ostracism that inevitably comes from such an explicit focus on the otherness of all those non-White.

Fresh (edit)

Just have to say. You know how one note or one brush stroke or one extra word can make something that's discordant become suddenly harmonious. Today I took a walk around a Globa Park and what had seemed to me previously like a micro dystopia (see the first entry) took on a surprisingly fresh image for me.
Being a holiday weekend it was busy, and I think it must have been all the people there strolling, drinking beer on benches, etc. that served as the unifying element to make that mess make sense. I was struck by how vividly the symmetry of the aqua theater cut. It made me think about the Guernica, which is not all unpleasent. Even the garish colors of the play structures seemed like extensions of the enjoyment of the children attached to them. The naked trees were in all the right places. It wasn't worn out; it was charming.

Dancing Shoes

In my last post I posited U.S.-Russian relations as a sub-category of a larger ideological conflict that the U.S. is fully engaged in. Russia as a means, but definitely not the end.
For Ukraine, the story is of course quite different. Russia may not be the Alpha (after all it's in Kyiv where can most definitely trace the origins of the Slavic peoples) but it's certainly the form and content, and could very well be its Omega.
With the Orange Revolution of 2004, Ukraine was fastening its blinders looking West. In the aftermath of the Orange party's complete failure to provide the treasures they promised, and the subsequent dissolution of that fragile political unity, belief and pursuit of Western-modeled democracy (and culture) has waned substantially. As a host of Ukrainian political figures tug at the fabric of a nation that becomes poorer and poorer as the economic crisis continues to ravage, the power-vacuum has opened wider than ever. Government ineptitude, political disunity, and bureaucratic squabble are taken as a granted in contemporary Ukraine. As the hryvnia falls against the dollar, people lose jobs, roads are left unpaved, and week after week the Eurocup 2012 bid looks to be in jeopardy, Ukrainians lack faith in political leadership to save their country. It's only natural then, why the antithesis of this power void, the obvious and celebrated complete consolidation of power in Russia, has grown increasingly alluring to many Ukrainians. Next door, in Russia they have a sterling historical precedent of how one man's power and bulldozing of opposition can dig a Slavic country out of recession and back to resurgence.

During my time in Ukraine many people have met my expectation of Russian perception by voicing their distaste for the brand of totalitarianism that seems to many to be emanating from the Kremlin. They see what happened in Georgia as a kind of ominous indication of the kind of Russia they might face in the future in Crimea, home to the Russian fleet and distinctly pro-Russian (even anti-Ukrainian) nationalism. And when Russia decided to turn off Ukraine's natural gas supply, albeit Ukraine was/is failing in payment, they saw this as a sort of reminder by Russia what little power Ukraine has if it decides to find new dancing partners.
However, connected by their Slavic blood, their language, and centuries of intimate history (regardless of its atrocities), Ukraine and Russia are sisters, and right now lil' sis' is seriously reconsidering her Western flirtations and looking up to big sis' again because she gets her shit done. Regardless of the fact that Russia's taking it as hard as everyone else right now, the West can't hope to provide the power of example so strongly as (Mother) Russia.

From Obama with Love

Earlier this week the Associated Press ran a story which described top-level diplomatic personnel delivering a personal letter from President Obama to Dmitri Medvedev, apparently a reply to an earlier letter from the Russian president. It sent a kind of refreshing shiver through my forearms, a wave of Bond-inspired romanticism to think that heads of great states still really send communiques in this way, and I could only picture Medvedev (Putin?) using some kind of solid gold and unwieldy letter opener to cleanly release the surely eloquent prose of Obama. Regardless, it's safe to assume that although these messages didn't begin "Dear Dima/Barry," they are nevertheless the beginning of a dialogue that wishes to soften the tone of recent antagonism coming from both sides. And as brand-new Secretary of State Hillary Clinton meets her Russian counterpart, Sergey Lavrov, in Geneva this week we will see the kind of tone that is set for the new Washington relations with the not so new, (temporarily?) resurgent Moscow.
Against all sense and political-correctness I hope that Hillary Clinton leaves Switzerland having swapped some karate chops with Putin's cohort. If I'm being honest, I have to say that the slow heating up of the old (new) Cold War has been kind of, well...fun.
If only because all the rhetoric seems shallow, if only because I think Russia's power rests on a gas-supply bubble that is not sustainable in the long-run, that is liable to burst (or is already bursting), and because Westerners are deluding themselves when they evaluate Russia's ability to actually menace the West (Georgia being the full reflection of its aggression), having Russia as a villain seems like something of old-fashioned entertainment. There's something less than real about the stakes with Russia, there's a certain playful nostalgia in the news barbs channeling between Washington and Moscow, and I can't help but suppress images of Bond seducing nefarious Natashas in a game where ultimately only henchmen and cronies get killed but the world nevertheless remains the same.
Ultimately, why I can trivialize the rekindling of Soviet and Yankee confrontation as, in part, as nothing more than a melodrama willingly created by both sides, is because it's a distraction. A distraction from conflict(s) with stakes exponentially higher. As the world knows, America's true battle, of foreign policy and armies (and economy and ideology), is in Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran, Lebanon... Monsters created by (mostly) wayward American action in the Muslim world, and generating a conflict that sadly no Bond or Bourne or secret missions could possibly hope to alter because they the enemies are too ambiguous and the plots are shaded with too much uncertainty and ideological complexity.
As much as I want to romanticize the letter from Obama to Medvedev, I have to forget that little fact that it wasn't about Russia's nuclear capabilities (a la the 1960s) it was Iran's, and specifically, will you Russia help us with this little Iran problem. Maybe it isn't true for Russia, but at the end of most of America's movies there's only two characters "Us" and "Them", and here Russia comes with Us. If Russia is America's opponent its only because its an unwilling participant, at best, and naughty disruptor, at worst, in the U.S. attempt to gain ground in its Muslim quagmire by unification of pro-West allies --not because it's the actual bully we want to confront.

Pro ball in Dnipro

Pre-game warm-ups
As I walked into the gym, it was immediately clear that this wouldn’t be anything like the spectacle of an American NBA game. No jumbotron, no foam-fingers, no, not even a usher to check our tickets and point the way to our seats. At court level, only feet away from the players of Kryvyi Rih warming-up, we found our seats ourselves. So maybe it wasn’t the NBA, and maybe it didn’t scream professional basketball, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t basketball. The familiar screech of sneakers against the hardwood, and the swoosh of jump shots splashing through the net, tingled my basketball nerves, and nostalgic memories of my basketball puberty flooded me--the games I attended as a student of Roosevelt High School. Indeed, the space was hardly bigger than my high school gym, and even the same cliché hip-hop that played at those games in 2001 could be heard blaring from speakers here.
Ten minutes before the game I contentedly watch Dnipropetrovsk’s players do the same kinds of lay-up lines and stretches that I assume are universal to basketball everywhere. If there’s a certain demographic of the Ukrainians that enjoy watching basketball a look at the fans around me didn’t yield much data; it was a seemingly balanced mix of men and women, young and old, families and not.
The only novelty is the fan section directly opposite from where we're sitting. Packed in the corner section, about 50 young men (and some women) are standing, clapping and decked in the blue and baby blue of their home squad. They're holding up Dnipro BC banners and home-made signs, and taking turns leading each other in sing-song, and call-and-response chants. It's the basketball approximation of the much larger fan-zones at football (soccer) games. Try as they might, however, at no part of the game are they able to muster the same kind of raucousness as at the football stadium. (And I have to give a homer shout-out here to my university's fan section, the Dawg Pack, and say that this crew has nothing on us.)

The American Line-up
Whereas a typcial NBA game features guess singers of the national anthem and video highlight clips of the players as they were announced, the game procedure here in Dnipro again consisted of little fanfare. There was a momentary flag observance as the Ukrainian anthem played over the loudspeakers, and traditional hand-slap lines for both teams as their players were announced.
In its starting line-up Dnipro has three players with noticeably darker than their teammates. Also there names come off the tongue off the PA announcer with more than a little awkwardness. Patrick Beverly, Darnell Lazare, and Devin Green have come all the way from America to continue their basketball dreams in Ukraine. But the story of their presence here is nothing special. As the NBA continues to take only the highest echelons of world basketball talent, those players whose play in college and other professional leagues isn’t deemed worthy by one of 32 NBA teams, but still want to make a living from basketball, often find there home in lesser but still quality leagues such as the Ukraine Basketball League.
Perhaps more interesting is the import of an American as the coach of Dnipropetrovsk Basketball League. With roughly five minutes left before game-time, Bob Donewald paces hyper-energetically onto the court. His gray slacks and suit jacket sit much to big on his portly frame, and he abstains a shirt and tie for a single black turtleneck, obviously doing his best impersonation of Miami Heat coach Stan Van Gundy. But more on coach later…

The game
Tip-off sees Kryvyi Rah score a quick and easy basket in a post. I spend most of the first quarter estimating the quality of play against my American reference. Though perhaps the pace is substantially slower than the brand played by most American teams, the teams execute a crisp pick and roll based offense and do a good job playing above the rim. Overall it’s comparable to high-level university games in the States. Matched against to my beloved University of Washington Huskies I figure that Kyrvyi Rih would win split 5 out of any 10 games. Dnipropetrovsk would maybe win 3 out of 10.
At least today Dnipropetrovsk looks clearly overmatched by its opponent. Allowing easy basket after easy basket in post position Dnipro falls behind big in the first period. After Patrick Beverly gets burned on a backdoor play by fellow American, Jarett Howell, coach Donewald pulls him out. Donewald greets Beverly’s arrival to the bench with a furious f-word filled rant. Where the fuck is your head, Donewald screams, plan for all the fans on my side of the gym to hear. The Ukrainian around me chuckle, the f-bomb definitely an international word. Unleashing his frustrations on his players, the referees, and even the opposing coach, in curse-filled tirades is one of Donewald's persistent coaching methods, but at least for this spectator it seems like maybe he should spend more energy coaching. Time and time again, it looks as though Dnipro’s team defensive scheme is completely at a lost to stop K.R. from getting post buckets. As the first half closes, only the outstanding offensive play of Green really miraculously pulls Dnipro within 5.
Half-time
American basketball hasn’t only brought its players to the world, it’s also brought a key part of its spectacle: the dance team. At halftime we are treated to ten minutes of the Dnipro dance team. Whereas the quality of basketball at the game is reasonably high in comparison to the American level, the quality of its dance entertainment is certainly not. Inexplicably dressed in black and green outfits resembling the wardrobe of Xena the Warrior princess, the Dnipro dance team performs to a music variety that while all high-energy, has no perceptible cohesion, and more importantly, no connection to the dance moves performed. To hip-hop, the dancers execute some type of French cha-cha kicks. To hyped-up Elvis, they do the most inconceivable and surprisingly un-erotic move imaginable: a mid-air bumping of butts. Finally, and although it pains me to say it, when the dance team takes streamers of blue and yellow to pay homage to Ukraine, the ensuing fluttering and intertwining of the ribbons was a level of choreography comparable to my little sister’s high school dance troupe. But anyway, they were pretty girls.


The second half and exit

Green's attempt to pull Dnipro's act together can't make up for the complete vacuum of interior defense that continues to suck stronger. On the other end, KR's bigs easily push Dnipro's game outside making for an inefficient and ineffective premiter game. Dnipro's Beverly tries to push the pace, but his troops aren't with him. Conversely, his American counterpart on the KR side, Howell, methodically runs pick and roll with the Slavic frontcourt. In this way, KR steadily builds its lead in the second half of about 9-10 points, and is content to let hold Dnipro at this length. Donewald continues to tirade, but clearly grows more resigned to his fate by the end. So it seems do the Dnipro players

A far more interesting scene than the actual basketball occurs after the game. Throughout the game, the Dnipro fans have found a lot of the officiating to complain about. For instance, it doesn't take a lot of Russian, to understand when the group of teenagers saw a charge not a block--there's a (basketball) universal code for this. From my part, save from a phantom blocking call on Dnipro in the open court, there's nothing memorable about the way the game's been called. Conventional wisdom says that equals good officiating.
Apparently, the Dnipro fan-zone, thought they saw something quite different. Or maybe that just wanted to add a little fun to a kind of snoozer game. As soon as the buzzer sounds Dnipro's predictable defeat, the dedicated Dnipro fans rush the court and systematically forming a human circle around one of the official. More comical than menacing, the ref looks more annoyed than intimidated, as he futilely tries to break the fans red rover arm-locks. The arena officials and few police officers simply look on amused, and only half-heartedly make an effort to get the fans off the court.
Its maybe the most visceral reminder of the gap between professional here and professional in the NBA. Whereas it's still possible that the court could be violated by the presence of the fanns in the NCAA, in the rapturous event of a considerable homecourt victory, in the NBA the liminal space of the court could never be violated in this way. The court and kind of sacred gladitorial pitch for humans existing at a level quite above us.
Here, I watch as the fans hardly care about the Dnipro players still around, sipping Gatorade. They'd rather play games that involve themselves as entertainment. There's been no pantheon built here like at the new Dnipro football stadium just outside. This is Dnipro basketball and it's amateur, human terrain.

A (different) quiet before...

In response to Alex Gödde’s “A quiet before…” as posted at
http://openit.com.ua/reportage.php?id=110#1


5:30 am (ok, maybe 6:30am)

It is surprising how quiet the streets are in the pre- and early-dawn hours--I’ll give him that. But birdsongs? Thoroughfares and string quartets?--As for the rest of my colleague’s poetic vignette, I’m not so sure we’re living the same city. I’ve walked this same path many times and let’s just say it doesn’t inspire in me the same kinds of Wordsworthian preambles.
So how about another look? Something less like the English Romantic poets, and something more like Ginsberg, admittedly an exaggeration, but only inversely proportional to the way Alex exaggerated his, and maybe something closer to the true picture.

Maybe it’s all the snow that seeps into microscopic cracks then freezes and expands thus splintering the cement. Maybe it’s the drill-like heels of so many Ukrainian women driving down as they walking purposefully to their destinations. And maybe the city just can’t afford regular maintenance. Whatever it is, the sidewalk of Komsomolskaya street is cratered everywhere like the surface of some moon. Its pits collect dirt, leaves, water and snow in treacherous hollows. I keep a conscious eye downward as I exit my apartment and step onto Komsomolskaya. I want to keep my boots clean today. A group of stray dogs, small but by no means emaciated, pass by completely indifferent to me.

I take the first left into Globa park. The entrance here is elevated and I can see the expanse of the park. The winter skeletons of the park’s trees etch into the gray sky and give suggestions of the yellow-green spring. Unfortunately their beauty is marred by what lies sitting in the western part of the park. I can see a steel pirate ship, a strongman’s hammer and bell stand, a yellow-roofed games hall, all parts of the park’s carnival area of soviet-era entertainments. It could be that because I was raised in Seattle, a city that understands how seamlessly it’s natural spaces should be integrated with construction, but the machines here seem to me to cut a jarring and hideous contrast to park’s true nature. Save for the weekend and holiday times, when crowds of parents and grandparents bring their kids, the entertainments sit frozen and abandoned, and painted in a garrulous mix of kid-favored primary colors they never fail to make me think of the cliché opening montage of a bad Stephan King novel adapted to television.

Turning my back to the carnival area, I walk along the side of the park’s swan pond. I walk under the pedestrian bridge and remember that this is the place that, for some reason I can’t ascertain, a drainage pipe drips a small, but not negligible amount of noxious pond scum. At the edge of the pond area an old woman heavily bundled slowly and mechanically sweeps the yesterday’s trash. There’s a lot of it, beer cans and the screw tops of vodka bottles and the ketchup stained paper of hot dog wraps. Drinking on park benches is a favorite past time of Ukrainians young and old (as it is for many peoples), and the aftermath is always too-small concrete garbage receptacles overflowed. So with the garbage vessels filled, and perhaps because of a lack of civic pride and/or loss of inhibition, all trash finds it home on the earth.

As I pass the old woman momentarily stops sweeping. She’s swinging the kind of broom, that could only make a Westerner think of the Wicked Witch of the West--it’s all bramble and twig spun together. I think I could say good morning to her, but for some reason I don’t think she liked the interruption. I could be wrong, but she kept starring at the broom, waiting to resume.

A security guard walks by. After his night shift? On the way to his day shift? Anyway, he carries a plastic beer bottle, screw-top, halfway drunk. From what I’ve seen, it’s not a true stereotype that there are more heavy drinkers than normal in the ranks of the Slavic population. But for the ones that are, they don’t hide their alcoholism behind doors, and I’m willing to venture that therein lies part of that stereotype’s creation.

Finally out of Globa I turn onto Karla Marxa. The T.G.I Friday’s on Serova is not yet streaming the Red Hot Chili Peppers from its speakers. Between Privat Bank and some other bank there’s a statue a monument in alcove of someone. Maybe he’s a Soviet hero, maybe he’s a Ukrainian poet. Whoever he is, I’ve never heard of him.