The Best Ukrainian Wedding So Far, Part 3

Just a few thıngs to add pertaining to the ceremony: if everything had gone according to bygone tradition, the wedding procession would have been headed up by a wailing woman, not by Cousin Arsen's band. Back in the day, every village had a so-called "wailing woman," who led both funeral and wedding processions. Her function at the former was obvious, but at weddings, it was her job to announce to the village that all happiness for the bride was over and that she now served her husband. Yeah, weddings were not thought of as especially happy occasions. Maybe that's why everybody looks so grim. Anyhow, another practice that has fallen by the wayside is the bride's father bestowing upon the groom a stick with which to beat his daughter when she got out of line. Those two things used to be fairly major components of the ritual. Thank God they're done with both of them. Another thing they're slowly phasing out is the two-day reception - the first night at the bride's house, the second night at the groom's. When Cousin Arsen got married to his first wife, Zoriana, they had a two-day receptionç At the end of the second night, they both looked like thy were ready to die. Perhaps the one-day marathon reception is a better choice. And speaking of that...

Cosmopolitan, suburban Hrimailiv was the location. They've got this hall that was renovated special for these kinds of function. In fact, Cousin Vasily had his reception here in August. In the dining hall, the chairs match and all the tables are the same height, so yeah, real class. There's just one thing: no restroom. No running water, no nothin'. You gotta use the outhouse. But that's OK, everybody's used to it. OK, so I arrived with more than three dozen well-wishers in the precariously overloaded bus. There was no sign of Ivas and Oksana, so we waited. And waited. And so on. Cousin Arsen explained that they were visiting the cemetary to pay respects to Oksana's mother. Eventually they did arrive:

Then everybody lines up to congratulate them. Monetary gifts go in the box:

There's all this handshaking and kissing that goes on till the very last person has done their handshaking and kissing. Then everyone piles into the dining hall. Only the bride and groom have reserved seats, everybody else has to fight for theirs. I was lucky, I sat near Cousin Vasily (and his very pretty and super-nice wife) and Cousin Ivan (Ivas' dad). So the pressure was off and we drank. And drank some more. Here is the scene in the hall:

Here's Cousin Ivan (on the right) and his boss, Ivan:

And in the distance, Cousin Andri (on the left), Cousin Volodya and Volodya's wife Oksana in the middle:

And that was just the beginning. Things devolved from there in fine fashion. The band started playing:

People dressed like gypsies and danced crazy:

Inside, people were singing:

That's Cousin Roman and his son, Cousin Volodya. They're two guys who love to sing. They don't even need to be drunk, but they kind of were. Everybody was!There were also weird Red Army vs. the Nazis that everybody seemed to enjoy. Cousin Arsen officiates:

Eventually, the drunks kind of took over. This guy, Sergey, in the middle was probably the worst of all. He was one of the groomsmen, but he had trouble handling his liquor:

Here's Cousin Andri and Roman-in-law checking to see if I was OK. I was!

Honestly, I drank a lot, but everything was fine - not that I'll drink that much every day. After many hours of celebrating, the parents got to dance with their kids:

There was this ceremony to take off Oksana's veil:

Children fell asleep:

Fathers of the bride smiled:

Here's just a sample of the dancing. This was sometime around three in the morning:

Things chugged along till 6:00, when we piled into the bus to Peremyliv. That Sergey guy really wanted me to drink with him, but I'd had enough. He ekpt bugging me till he passed out. Incidentally, it was damn near freezing - something like 36 degrees or something. I got to bed just as it was getting light. My rest didn't last long, Cousin Arsen got me up shortly after 10 to tell me that he was playing another wedding down the road in Khorostkiv and that I should go over to Ivan's house where they were still celebrating. OK yes, I was hungover, but not badly. I went over to Ivan's house with Arsen's wife and guess what they were doing? Singing and drinking, so I did the latter while listening to the former. Yeah, more drinking. That' exactly what I needed. Poor Cousin Arsen, he'd just gotten done playing for almost an entire day and now he had to do it again. That evening, I took it easy and went over to Cousin Roman's house, where we - you guessed it - drank vodka and talked of various things.

And that was the wedding.

The Best Ukrainian Wedding So Far: Part 2

The next day, or rather the same day, it went down. I woke up early, had breakfast with Cousin Arsen and Lesa that included more than a little vodka. I took it easy, as I knew it was going to be a very long day. Cousin Arsen went to play at a short thing at the bride's house in Verkhivtsi. He was back in just over an hour and we headed over to Ivas' house in neighboring Karashintsi.

You know, the whole family is made up of very jolly, good-natured people, but as I've noticed, when the wedding day comes around, everybody looks like they're being led to the gallows. I've decided that this is just their way. Anyhow, everything was in place and this is what went down:

The band got themselves organized. That's Cousin Arsen on the sax (that I gave him 8 years ago), Andri is on the drums (he morphs into a keyboard player later on) and I forgot the accordionist's name. That's also Cousin Arsen's son Volodya hanging out. OK, they say a few ceremonial things, then Ivas' Roman-in-law (his sister Marika's husband) pour champagne for everybody:

Then Ivas dances with his ma:

Afterwards, mom and dad (my Cousin Ivan) sprinkle Ivas with water and salt. They also get candy tossed at them:

They smash the plates with the water, salt and candy against the house (sorry, no action shots), then the bridesmaids line up on either side and they march after the cake, hefted by Roman-in-law:

This is what it says:

That's "to many years" in our lingo - not "too many years." And then the march begins with the band leading the way:

Here was the problem: Oksana lives way the hell over in Verkhivtsi, so it was impractical to march over there. So we just marched a little ways and then the cars came up behind us. Cousin Arsen and I rode with Cousin Andri in his Classic Orange Zhiguli (which is actually the same as a Lada, but the Soviets had two brands just to give the illusion that people had a choice) and off we went to Verkhivtsi.

When we arrived, the mock sale of the bride took place at the gate:

Ivas haggles over her price with various proxies. He keeps bringing out bottles of vodka from somebody's trunk, but it's not enough. He's got to put down some cash, too, which he does. They argue more. Further bottles of vodka are produced:

The negotiations become so heated that at one point I turn to my Cousin Vasily and say, "Uh oh, there's not gonna be a wedding. And I came all this way." That got a laugh from the crowd. Shortly after that, they concluded their business. Oksana was "sold" for 20 bottles of vodka and $120. They let us in and we all waited by the door for her to appear. And there she ıs! Those two are NOT bridesmaids; they're attendants. The real bridesmaids are with the groom.

They go out and kiss everybody and then as many people as possible pile into the house where they have a sort of farewell ceremony. There are songs and everything. The bride says goodbye to her father, friends and old life (kind of ironic because this is where the two of them are living, so she's not saying goodbye to anything). I gotta tell you, everybody was crying: men, women and children. I have no pıctures. I couldn't get a straight shot into the room, so I just listened to what was going on while people all around me were bawling their Slavic heads off.

Once that business was through, they lined up again with a second cake:

They get doused with water, salt and candy again, this time by dad and both grannies, plates get smashed (once again no action shots) and we're off. Incidentally, the second cake reads like so:

It says "to happiness, to the future." So with the band in the lead, we trudge through the mud towards the church. This is a Ukrainian village. The roads are dirt. When it rains, you get mud.

One of the things I failed to capture along what Cousin Arsen calls "the death march" is that when the couple encounters anyone along the way, they have to stop, bow and throw them candy. This happened at least three dozen times, yet I failed get a shot. Oh well!

Meanwhile, the geese were indifferent to the festivities:

The ducks were, too:

Ducks and geese being ındifferent. There you have it. Anyhow, Ivas and Oksana stopped at a chapel along the way. That's another rule: you have to stop at all chapels along the way.

From there, it was a quick scramble up the hill to the church:

No, not this church. It's not finished yet. It was at this tiny one off to the side:

The paint is peeling and it's about the size of a tool shed, but it's pretty bling inside. They had these grape-shaped lights that responded to sound. There was something very casino-like about it. I kept expecting a sign to flash on that read: THE LOOSEST SLOTS IN TOWN!! Anyhow, the priest and choir greet the couple at the door. The service is almost completely sung. It's quite beautiful when everybody's on pitch - you hear me, tenors? So it also lasted quite a while. There was a lot of crossing and bowing. OK, everybody refers to themselves as Greek Catholic (also known as Uniate), but except for some details, you'd swear it was Russian Orthodox. I know there are a few major differences, but it's not even close to the Catholic rite. And that's just fine. Another similarity to the Orthodox ceremony - wedding crowns:

This is a bad photo, bad they're there. Sorry for the night-scope shot. I didn't want to blind the priest. By the way, he had a very nice voice. Here's a shot of them with both of her grannies. Nobody looks happy!

And now, it's official!

Still, nobody looks happy.

Anyhow, so they file out of the miniscule church and we head off to the reception in Hrimailiv. They brought in a bus for that, because even though very few people were at the houses and the ceremony, lots and lots want to go to the reception. In fact, our "bus" was just an oversized minivan, which managed to squeeze in something like 40 people.

So that was the wedding. Next up: the reception.

The Best Ukrainian Wedding So Far: Part 1

This was my first (and therefore best) Ukrainian wedding. I knew what to expect since I'd been subjected to various relatives' wedding videos in the past. Seriously, I didn't think I'd last till the end.

Let's back up just a bit.

I arrived in early afternoon in Ternopil from Lviv. The temperature was a sobering 39 degrees. Arsen was there to meet me with his Igor-in-law (his wife's brother, Igor). We meandered around Ternopil and paid a visit to this place called Epitsentr or Epicenter. It was the biggest store I've ever seen in Ukraine, exactly like Home Depot, except with a lot more kinds of super-ugly wallpaper. All former Soviet republics dig that stuff for some reason. From there, we drove off to the Old Country, Peremyliv.

If there was ever a place that didn't deserve a sign this big, it's Peremyliv. Since my last stay, Cousin Arsen has made it a year older. It still doesn't need a sign that big.

Right after I got situated (I took over his twin sons' room, they didn't seem to mind), I went over to Cousin Ivan's house in Karashintsi. It was just a quick slog across the fields. I expected Ivas, the impending groom, to be carousing. Nope! He was actually waiting there for me while the womenfolk (Cousin Olya, her daughter, Cousin Marika, Olya's mom and several neighbors) prepared snacks for the evening's buket (boo-KET, not bucket) at fiancee Oksana's house two villages over in Verkhivtsi. In case anybody's forgotten what Ivas looks like, here he is with the family's Classic Lada:

He invited me to the buket, but I thought that I successfully sidestepped it, not knowing what a buket was in the first place and all. But no, he showed up at 10 that night to whisk me away to Verkhivtsi in the Classis Lada, which incidentally had four of his wedding party in the back. The journey was over your standard terrible village roads. But thanks to all the rain, they were also muddy. I quickly found out that the buket is where the groom formally asks the father for his daughter's hand in marriage. He also picks his corsage for the next day. These are just incidental events. It's really just an excuse to drink. And drink we did:

I can't really tell you who all these people are, but they show up again the next day. After the initial drinking, Ivas did the formal asking-thing that took the form of a poem. Of course, Oksana's dad started crying and said yes. It was quite touching, all the moreso since her mom passed away a year and a half ago. Somebody told me that Ivas and Oksana would have gotten married earlier, but for traditional Greek Catholic (more on that later) mourning rules that state that she had to wait a year. Shortly after the asking-thing came the corsage selection:

I guess he picked right. I mean, you don't win a prize for selecting the coolest corsage. Following that, it was very important to Ivas that I should have have my picture taken with him and one of the bridesmaids:

Like everywhere else, they have bridesmaids and groomsmen, but there are only two and their functions are reversed - bridesmaids accompany the groom and groomsmen go with the bride. This is to make sure that they both get to the church. The bridesmaids are pretty girls who "trick" the groom into following them and the groomsmen are given permission to muscle the bride to the ceremony if the need arises. Anyhow, here is what Ivas and Oksana look like as a couple:

Ah, young love!

After all the ceremonial stuff and drinking (Ivas touched not a drop because he was driving), we loaded back into the Classic Lada, drove over the same terrible, muddy roads and ended up at the only bar in Peremyliv, which was in former Communist times a House of Culture. There I met this hugely tall guy named Andri who had been living in Florida for the last five years. Amazingly, he spoke terrible English. I mean, five years! I hadn't spoken English for three days and I was starting to dream in Ukrainian. Ukrainian! If, God forbid, I was here for five years, I'd likely have a wider command of the local lingo. But as an aside, here's my immediate problem with Ukrainian: it's different everywhere you go. How they speak and what they say differs greatly - at least to my ears - from Lviv to Ternopil, from Ternopil to Peremyliv and so on. Words, expressions and pronunciations are completely different. What good is it learning a language that is only intelligible to you for 20 miles in all directions? And as far as I know, there is no Ukrainian version of Hochdeutsch - a unıversal dialect. That would be too easy. With Russian, there may be regional slang and expressions, but somebody in St. Petersburg talking on the phone in Russian with somebody else in Vladivostok will understand them perfectly. I'm not too sure whether someone in Uzhhorod will find their counterpart in Sumi intelligible - unless of course they're speaking Russian. That's why I stick to Russian and maybe and the very outside, Ukrussian - a clever blend of the two of my own formulation. Anyhow, Andri's English was not good.

At the former House of Culture, we drank warm beer, ate terrible pizza and had a fine time. I got in just after two. That was just the prelude. I was feeling quite unsure of my ability to endure the onslaught of merriment.

And Now, Presenting....

...former Lviv resident, Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, author of Venus in Furs and world's first masochist! Yep, there's a statue of him in Lviv. That's how they roll around here. Compared to Stepan Bandera, he's a friggin' boy scout.

Oh, and there's also a giraffe store:

I'm pretty sure they don't sell giraffes. The door's not big enough. They're really a grocery store.

Igor Finds Art - And Almost Vice-Versa

I've been to Lviv something like seven or eight times, so it's a little strange that I've never even noticed the art museum. It's on the Prospekt Svobody, the main drag, a mid-sized stone's throw from the Opera House. Like nearly everything in Lviv, it's formerly grand. These days, it's cold, drafty and smells of must and cigarettes. And with a nearly four-dollar entry fee, it's prohibitively expensive for most Ukrainians. Photography is strictly forbidden, but hey, this is Ukraine. There are ways around that stupid rule. Here's how:

1. Buy a digital camera
2. Bring it with you to Ukraine
3. Go to the art museum
4. Turn off your flash and shutter sound
5. Wait for the exhibit's babushka to fall asleep
6. Snap away!

It's that easy!

They had a fairly excellent collection of medieval icons. St. Paraskeva was a particularly favorite subject. I have no idea why. Unfortunately, all of them were encased in glass and the exhibit babushka was actually a far more spry and less weary zhenshina, so I would have gotten into trouble for taking bad pictures. I didn manage to get a few shots from the less ancient collection. This is when Ukrainian icons began to differ in style from their Russian counterparts. They became prettier and less intense. Eyes and faces are rounder and softer. Meanwhile the Russians continued with their traditional angular simplicity, which, for my money, has always been the way to go. Here is some of what Ukrainians have to offer:



Yeah, I realize that two of these are the same. It was a long time in between shots.

The weirdest examples of icons weren't icons at all, but the metalwork the adorned the icon at one time. They obviously thought these had enough artistic value to hang them up on their own:


They remind me of those crazy plywood cutouts where you put your head and suddenly your in a wacky situation. For these can be religious superstar.

As for non-religious art, there is quite a lot of portraiture, much of it laughably crude - especially that pertaining to Cossacks. It reminds me of folk art. There always seems to be something out of proportion: a tiny head on broad shoulders, eye looking in different directions or a nose that couldn't exist in the real world. You're going to have to take my word for it. All those portraits were in the exhibit babushka's line of sight - and she refused to fall asleep. My eye, however, was drawn to this piece:


One criticism of Ukrainian art is that it's derivative. Yes, that's true, but it's not such a terrible thing at times. Take a look here:

Vermeer much? But hey, it's really quite nice.

After the old art came the (heavy sigh) modern exhibit. It was an entire series of rooms dedicated to the work of one Dmitro Stetsko. It was quite awful. I have no pictures to prove it, though. It wasn't worth photographing, plus there were two spry exhibit babushkas. Suffice to say that there was a lot of repetition and muted tones involved - kind of like what they were doing in Scandinavia prior to the time when they started slashing big, blank canvases. So yes, though Stetsko has an impressive mustache, his art doesn't grab me in any way, shape or form.

And that was my visit to the art museum.