The Process of Acclimation

I always underestimate the process of acclimation when arriving in a new country. Somehow I expect to just jump right off the plane, and into a familiar routine – to sleep and eat on schedule, to explore from place to place without feeling lost or overwhelmed. Then, once I’ve landed and set my feet onto unfamiliar ground, I remember… it is in fact a process, and sometimes you just have to take things one step at a time.

Today we visited the city, and took the metro into downtown. Walking from Mariya’s quiet neighborhood across the bridge and toward the Metro station, it was obvious by people-watching that I’d misestimated the sense of style in this country. As Mariya suggested, I brought conservative clothing: short sleeves, knee length skirts, flat sandals that were comfortable to walk in. While this worked out well for comfort, the vast majority of women our age and even older were wearing much less – itty bitty shorts, midriff bearing tops, high stiletto heels in the early afternoon. Being female, I also couldn’t help but notice the standard of beauty among all the women walking around. Never in my life have I seen so many size-two to double zero, 5 foot 8, C to DD cup sized, blue-eyed women walking around in one place. (Except maybe Manhattan Beach, but this is the real thing.) Apparently, Joe Biden made a comment once about Ukraine having the most beautiful women in the world… well, within the first ten minutes of walking around I don’t think anyone could argue with that.

Of course there are also a reasonable number of good looking guys – but as Matt pointed out, the ratio is still pretty unfair. Almost every guy I have seen in his late teens to mid-20s has been clean-shaven, well-built (until early 30s when they get vodka/beer bellies) and surprisingly fashionable, most wearing nice shoes and no sunglasses to cover their light-colored eyes. Matt with his beard-in-progress and me with my Irish/German looks both stand out as clearly not from here… but hey, at least we have Mariya!

For lunch, we visited a place which phonetically translates to “poo-zata-hata” (“Fully Tummy Hut”) and all three of us got a nice dose of culture shock. Being worthless at reading or speaking any Russian, Matt and I have been relying completely on Mariya to navigate and translate. Problem is, in the 12 years since Mariya moved from the Ukraine, the country has decided to nationalize and make Ukranian its national language instead of Russian. (Ukranian is about as different from Russian as English is from Spanish.) Everyone still speaks Russian, but all the signs, advertisements and in our case food labels at the buffet are written in Ukranian, so when we arrived at the peak of lunch hour to this crowded buffet, it quickly turned into chaos.

First, we entered into the exit, not knowing which way to navigate through the crowded tables full of people with plastic trays. When we finally got in on the right side, Matt and I stared bewildered at the dozens of cafeteria-style entrees lining the buffet. Some of it looked like salad – I recognized cut up cucumbers and tomatoes covered in dill. There were piles of meats – one looked vaguely like sausage, and there was definitely rice, but others were battered and fried, and covered in sauces that neither of us recognized. People were pushing us forward in line and yelling out orders, but Matt and I couldn’t do anything but point. Mariya taught us that “eta” means “that” so I just waved my hand and said “eta!” at whatever was closest, and prayed that they didn’t ask me questions.

By the time we made it through the buffet line and to the checkout, I had a plate full of food, and I couldn’t tell you what it was. We got to the checkout counter, and the lady said some number I didn’t understand, so I gave her a 100 bill. (Roughly equivalent to $12.) She was clearly annoyed that she had to give me change, but I had no idea how to respond. We were all flustered, and Mariya said something to her in Russian that she scoffed at, but then at least it ended well. I got my change, we eventually found a table, and after a few bites of food we had all calmed down.

“You have to remember that ten year old Masha is giving you a tour of the city, and I’ve never been here without my Mom” Mariya reminded us when we sat down. “It’s not easy for me either.”

Matt and I can’t read, write or speak, and Mariya isn’t fluent in the written language, but at least between the three of us we’re figuring it out as we go!