Boy about town

I like these two stencils I recently saw in Simferopol, one along the Salgir River and one on the top of Pushkin Street.

Will the Simferopol Airport be named after Amethan Sultan?

Portrait of Amethan Sultan.  Image source:  Wikipedia

According to an article in May 28th's Poluostrov, the Ukrainian minister of transportation is "not against" naming the Simferopol Airport after Amethan Sultan (1920-1971), a famous Crimean Tatar Soviet fighter pilot who twice received the award "Hero of the Soviet Union."  Kia news published the internal document last week.

Amethan Sultan's story exposes the hypocrisy of Stalin's deportation of the Crimean Tatars.  Claiming the  Crimean Tatar population had collaborated with the Nazis, Stalin deported every last Crimean Tatar to Central Asia.  Yet thousands of Crimean Tatars fought in WWII.  According to the Poluostrov article, 60,000 Crimean Tatars participated in the Great Patriotic War, with 36,000 deaths.  Some 40,000 more were actively involved, participating on the home front.

Memorial to Amethan Sultan in his home city of Alupka, Crimea.  Image source:  Wikipedia

Amethan Sultan is nothing less than a national hero.  On Victory Day, Milli Firka, a Crimean Tatar political party, sponsored billboards in Crimea reminding residents of his awards and service.  A few Crimean Tatars have proudly told me of his skills as a fighter pilot.  "When Amethan Sultan was flying, the Nazis would get nervous, and yell on their radios, 'Amethan Sultan is in the air!  Amethan Sultan is in the air!'"

Other Crimean Tatars who received Soviet awards for their service in the Great Patriotic War include Nasibulla Velilyaev, Seit Nebi Abduramanov, Uzeir Abdramanov, Abdul' Tejfuk, Seitnafe Seitveliev and Abduraim Reshidov.  Here are plaques in their memory in the play yard of Simferopol's 42nd school, the only school with Crimean Tatar language instruction in Simferopol, located in the mikrorayon Kamenka.  Amethan Sultan's plaque is the first on the left.

On a peninsula where history is so contentious and many place names have been changed or even lost, and in a culture that still celebrates with passion year after year the Soviet Victory in the Great Patriotic War, naming the Simferopol Airport after Amethan Sultan would be a large step to recognizing not only the large achievements of the Crimean Tatar people, but the injustice of their merciless deportation and 50 year exile.  The first historical name every new visitor to Crimea would come across would not be Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin at Livadia Palace, but instead the name of the Soviet and Crimean Tatar hero Amethan Sultan, before even leaving the airport.

Remembering Ataturk

After my post about Lenin statues, Austin posted his version, which really is a good bit cooler:

On my recent trip to Turkey, I spent a lot of time thinking about the differences between Turkey and Ukraine.  It takes only an hour and twenty minutes to fly over the Black Sea to Istanbul from Simferopol, but quite a bit longer to adjust to the differences between the two spaces.  Here are some children playing around the Ataturk statue in Fethiye.

Remembering Lenin, again and again

If you've ever visited a post-Soviet country, depending on which one I suppose, you've probably seen a proud statue of Lenin in the center of town.  For many tourists not from this part of the world it is most likely near impossible not to take a photo of a town's Lenin statue in contrast with today's surroundings.  In Bishkek, Lenin was stretching his hand to the American University in Central Asia, which the guidebooks love to point out.  During Ramadan, I saw a photograph of Simferopol's Lenin Square filled with praying Muslims.  And what kitsch-loving tourist can resist taking a photograph with Lenin?

These images seem so ironic at first glance, as you twist your mind back and forth to come up with the perfect explanation of how THIS IMAGE is the perfect image of the post-Soviet space.  Yet with time, even these images become commonplace.  It becomes second nature to "meet near Lenin," or give directions in relation to his memorial statue.

Alright, so that was my attempt to deconstruction my "western obsession" with Lenin photos... Now I can show you mine... Every time I walk past these young skate boarders hanging out at Lenin's feet, I just really wish one of them would pull some great skateboarding stunt so I could get a shot of them flying past this statue...

I mentioned this to a friend of mine here.  He looked at them and then commented, "Yes, unfortunately they aren't very good."

How I learned to stop worrying and love the shashlik

Until recently, I had a good run of vegetarianism that had begun before university, including a bout of veganism that ended in a mad fit in which I consumed an entire roll of frozen chocolate-chip cookie dough in one sitting (no offense to any of my friends who remain or became vegan, but that is the problem I believe with veganism - - it requires such a degree of self-sacrifice it leaves you prone to mad rages!).  The answer to the common question, "Why are you vegetarian" was always a bit difficult for me.  I must say that Propaghandi's graphic website had some part to do with it, but also I never really was a great fan of meat.  Beans!  Tofu!  Cheese!  These were the things I was crazy about.

Fast forward through 7 years of vegetarianism in a paragraph:  Bower co-op, bower pot-lucks, bean burritos, learning to cook, mercimek corbasi, mezeler, and Turkey is a heaven for vegetarians, unless you are at a cafeteria designed for overnight buses.

Summer 2008, I travelled to Ukraine for the first time.  Denwood and I travelled from Odessa to Crimea and back in 9 days.  Let me say, Ukraine has some great food and food traditions, but the good stuff isgn't readily available for the short term tourist.  After endless bus station chow and 3 days of eating nothing but potato puree, I was about to suffer a mad fit.

In Crimea, Crimean Tatar cusine brought chiboreki, which are delicious but also a heart attack in a soaked napkin.  Finally, in Bakchisarayi I broke down and ordered "gelin ash", a delicious ravioli soup that a woman traditionally would make after her wedding.  With the meat hidden in the ravioli, I was actually able to eat it.  Soo much better than potato puree...

So, as vegetarians so love to do, and then broadcast to anyone who would like to hear, I altered my "food identity."  I was a defensive meat eater!  I would eat meat in a pinch, as a guest, on a trip, etc.  I even tried a bite of steak and was quite proud of myself.

My new skill (defensive meat eating!) was quite helpful in Kyrgyzstan, where about the only thing you can find without meat is vodka.  But at the times of greatest need (when I was served besh barmak, a dish of homemade noodles, mutton and lots and lots of grease, for breakfast I almost cried, and instead spooned half of mine on my friends' plates).

Fast forward to Crimea.  All the best Crimean Tatar dishes (that I know of anyway) have meat in them.  At first it was a matter of ordering lagman and picking around the meat, and when I realized how ridiculous that looked I started eating it.  Eating a bit of meat here, and there, eating a hot dog when served it for breakfast.  That is some great defense!

Then, one day, I was walking by one of my favorite restaurants here in Simferopol, Divan.  I could smell the kebabs cooking inside.  It smelled ridiculously good like no meat has ever smelled before.  I had a MEAT CRAVING.  But this didn't sync with my "food identity.  I was a defensive meat eater who doesn't order dishes where meat is the main ingredient.  Tack on:  but apparently suffers from meat cravings!

Next time the craving struck, I broke down, ran down into Divan and ordered myself (a half portion of) some Lulia kebab.  SO GOOD.  Unbelievably good.  And no guilt.

Today walking around in the central market with a friend we ate at a place called МЯСО (meat).  Can you believe it?  I don't actually know if that is the name of it or it just happened to be a sign indicating that meat was available.  (I should also mention that for the both of us, everything (two portions of plov, two salads, two peices of bread, one shashlik and a teapot) was only 30 grivna, which is less than 4 dollars, for all of you who are visiting this summer and want the Crimea on a shoestring tour)

I think I am out of food identities for the moment - perhaps I'll have to become a Christian Scientist to fill the void.

Spring hikes

Two of the past few weekends I've gone out to visit Barb, a Peace Corps volunteer who lives on the outskirts of Simferopol.  The weather has been getting quite nice, and we've been taking advantage of it by exploring.

Do you know what Yalta is at night?

I'm reading through the short stories in The Wall in my Head: words and images from the fall of the Iron Curtain, a wonderful anthology published last year.  Whenever I now find references to Crimea, I can't help but dally over them and think about them.  I found this in Dmitri Savitski's Waltz for K. You can find the full text here.

In Tsvetnoy market the Georgians were selling tomatoes for exorbitant prices, someone had brought some plump gladioli into town, and the Prime Minister of Australia was due to arrive on an official visit, and an aphorism by the mayor of the city made the rounds of Moscow, to the effect that if anyone flew during the visit, heads would fly too—in a word, a pal! of ennui and desolation had descended, and Katenka and I finally got two plane tickets to Simferopol; from there we would make our way by road to Yalta, rest a while, take a look round. and, going out to sea one night on a plea sure boat, leave the country for ever.

Kolenka's warning—not to fly over large expanses of water—naturally made us a bit apprehensive, but we had no choice. The Western frontiers were now being patrolled in earnest.

Do you know what Yalta is at night? No, not Soviet Yalta, full of drunks and street brawls, reeking of cheap perfume and suntan oil! A different Yalta. Mute, dwindling, sprawled on its side like a dis tant dying campfire. A city from which so many have fled. ... A last memory, spiced with cheap jokes.. ..

It was a close, moonless night. I had a child's compass, bought at the last minute. I was so afraid the pointer would come off the needle-----

Simferopol Blues

My muse has been a bit preoccupied lately, so I haven't been writing as much as I want to.  So here is a quick post before I run off for the day.

A friend and I have decided to give each other weekly assignments to work on our photography skills.  This week the assignment is "blue."

Walking around Simferopol looking for blue, I've been reminded of some of my first impressions of the city.  Color seems to be at the same time in scarce supply and popping out brightly from every corner.  Graffiti, windows, doors and clothing jump out from the background of the city.

Yes, that's snow.

Simferopol patterns

Dad - I shot this one for you - the stencil says "Caution - mean dog!"

Bahar geldi!

This weekend the weather in Simferopol was beautiful and I had a great time walking around and hanging out with some new friends.

On Saturday morning I set out to the outdoor book market.  On the way there I passed these adorable little strays waiting outside of a shop.

It didn't take me too long to figure out what they were waiting for.  Looks like these fellas have a long time friend in the neighbourhood.

Must post this picture as well so you can see the honey stand.

And she's a cat person too.

At the market, I picked up some great finds, including old travel guides of Simferopol, Karaim cookbooks, a great present for Heidi that is also a secret, a collection of short stories by Babel since Melissa is always raving about him, and a few atlases.

Don't be fooled by everyone in coats and hats - the weather was beautiful...

...as you can see from this woman hanging out in her window.

Yes, we have no bananas

Yesterday I was walking through the market and I saw the following sign:


"Russian Blini - You just can't find tastier"

A sucker for good advertising, I was struck with hunger and a very strong blini craving. I ducked inside the cafe, sat down, and ordered blini. Yum...

Imagine my disappointment when I heard the response: "We don't have any blini."

stenciling and graffiti from here and there

Straight-edge graffiti in Simferopol, near the river

The ubiquitous geometric fence and a blue dragonfly


Can anyone identify this? They appear to be cute sailor bugs. Balaclava.

Another fence story

This may very well be my favorite place in Simfi.

All about a fence

Now that I've upgraded my camera (Canon G11, and I love it, thanks for the advice, Dad!), I sometimes have the thought, "Which of my cameras shall accompany my walk today?" Until today the G11 has always won out, but today for some reason I wanted to keep my purse light and brought my PowerShot instead. Mistake! Today was an unseasonably gorgeous but grey day, and my PowerShot wasn't up to the challenge. Note to self - stash the old camera away, not because you'll use it again, but because if you give it away something horrible will happen to your new one.

I've already posted a few shots of the river that runs behind my neighbourhood and into town. As my "walk to the center," I've grown quite fond of this path. For starters, it is one of my memories of my first trip to Crimea in July of 2008; the geometric fence pattern was one of my first experiences with Soviet design, and I thought it was quite beautiful. Of course, as I now understand the pattern as an ubiquitous feature from Eastern Europe to Central Asia, it still has some emotional pull, but elicits something more like melancholy than admiration.

But I'm also realizing that on nice days, the river is quite a gathering spot. With yesterday the Orthodox Christmas holiday and today one of those lazy Fridays following such a big event, I've been out enjoying the nice weather (and to think, just last week we had both rain and snow!) and the holiday vibe.

There is just so much going on here:

The post-wedding "lock on a bridge"

Picnicking

Fishing (can't help but be reminded of walking down the Galata Bridge)

Cute couples on park benches

And of course there are also strollers, young boys drinking beer, friends eating sunflower seeds, reading loners, mothers and babies, and dog owners.

Unfortunately these black patterned fences are also being used as a source of scrap metal. Here's a section taken from behind my building in the past week:

In some places it is even quite a hazard -

It is sad to see these fence links disappear in such a lively public space, especially as there is no guarantee they will be replaced at all.

After seeing some of the new damage today, I made it a goal to find some older photographs of this space from throughout the years. Although with this developing interest, I'm afraid that when I'm old and gray (inshallah!), wherever I am, I'll become one of those volunteers at the local history museum, scaring children with my big, yellow smile and frightening well-meaning patrons out the door with my enthusiasm and musty brochures.