Showing posts with label steel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label steel. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

DP World

One of the biggest problems facing me in the Ukraine is that I gave my jacket to my dad to take back with him to Canada. I assumed that by the end of March it would be warm enough for me to only need my spring jacket, and that summer would be upon us soon enough. This wasn’t such a naïve thought, too, because only months later structurally-sound young Muscovites were taking to the streets in bikinis and high-heeled shoes to beat the heat. With this in mind, and in spite of the icy winds through the streets of Kiev, I had pushed on to Kharkov, but decided to take a sharp right-hand turn to the south and the Crimean resorts on the balmy Black Sea. Not, however, before making a pit stop in Dnipropetrovs’k, partly because I wanted to break up a 20+ hour train ride, and partly because I had a hard time pronouncing the name and that intrigued me.

DP, as I like to call it, is a place that certainly almost never comes to mind when people think about the Ukraine, and probably wouldn’t even come to mind when one gets together with friends to play a rousing game of listing the most populous cities in the Ukraine. This is a mistake, because evidently it’s number 3. So why is this place so shrouded in mystery and anonymity? Partly the name is so confusing that no one attempts to pronounce or remember it. Part of it is because, believe it or not, many people don’t actually care about the Ukraine and spend hours poring over maps of it. But the real reason is because during the Soviet era it was a “secret city.” DP is famous throughout Ukraine and the former Soviet Union as the main production centre for nuclear weapons and spaceship components, but it was purposely left off the maps as though it did not exist. Until recently, on the highways leading up the city there were no indicators that a city of 2 million people was there until lo and behold a massive industrial giant materialised out of nowhere.

But for all its industrial and warfare-oriented pretensions, it’s actually quite a beautiful city. There Because of the large dam on the Dniepr to the south at Zaporizhe, the city is surrounded by [oily, chemical-laden] water and there are lush parks and a river walk all along the water front. Karl Marx Avenue runs straight through the town, flanking a large promenade and boulevard where a craft market has set up shop. In fact, say what you will about the Ukrainian oligarchy and their scheming and corruption, but they have made considerable efforts to up the game of their respective cities vis-à-vis the historical and European appeal of Western Ukraine and the political cachet of Kiev. There is nothing I like more than boorish coal and steel barons flexing their economic muscle and building opera houses in factory towns.

Evidently, however, DP’s success and rejuvenation hasn’t been purely due to the recent success of its industrial elites. As is well-known to any economic historian who has studied the collapse of the Soviet Union intimately, the concentration of military and industrial capital in Dnipropetrovs’k sired an elite who ruled the Soviet Union for much of its later years. The most famous scion, Leonid Brezhnev[‘s eyebrows], was groomed by the Dnipropetrovs’k Chateau Clique for an iron-fisted and in the end bumbling and almost incoherent 18-year rule of the Soviet Union. To my delight, my CouchSurfing hosts took me to a bar which featured celebrity shots of Brezhnev himself. You’ll also remember the Ukrainian Princess Leia, political super-babe Yulia Timoshenko is also from DP, and despite her Ukrainian name and her allegedly-pro-Western-lesser-of-two-evils approach to politics, she only learned the Ukrainian language in her later years and has intimate ties to the Russian state. She is a living example that with the right ties and hair style, anyone from DP can go from managing and later privatising a student-run video rental store to owning a massive steel and chemical conglomerate, and inevitably end up in jail on corruption charges. What fertile grounds for success and ultimately devastating failure! I wouldn’t have it any other way.

You may well ask what I actually did while in DP. Well, not a great deal. I was impressed by some of the architecture—evidently it had been a very small, old town and the centre preserved some of the shells of buildings that sustained heavy enough tank damage to render them useless, but not be torn down or replaced. I also enjoyed the parks, the $2 “Biznez Lanch” specials, a night of bowling (I had no idea 10-pin bowling existed—what a cultural shock! Ukraine taught me so much about myself), and the 6-stop metro that runs from the train station out to the factory districts in the outskirts, and I was fortunate enough to have my host, an American English teacher, take me on a metro station pub crawl, one that thankfully didn’t result in my getting beaten and left for dead in the suburbs. Owing almost entirely to this, I can count my time in DP as a success and recommend it to all.*


*One thing to note is that I am currently engaged in a minor impasse with the Ukrainian Postal Service. I sent three or four large packages of post cards from the central post office in Dnipropetrovs’k and I dropped them off in the post box outside, as directed. They have never arrived and I am starting to suspect that the box I dropped them into was merely a decorative feature. So if you’re going to DP, can you please ask at the post office to look in that box and see if my parcels are still in there? I would really, really appreciate it. I’m also considering writing a strongly-worded letter to their public relations department and that’s bound to go straight to the top, so it’s not a problem if you aren’t in the neighbourhood.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Harking on Kharkov

Look at these attractive,
young Ukrainians!
While Kiev may be the political heart of Ukraine, and the west the cultural heart, there were still vast tracts of land left to cover before I could justifiably claim that I had “done” the Ukraine. Of course, I’m talking about the industrial heartland east of the great ribbon of commerce/toxicity the Dniepr River. The secret to any Russian Imperial, Soviet, and subsequent Ukrainian success has always lain in the rich coal seams of the Donbass and the enterprising, hardy spirit of the Steppes-peoples. Mammoth planned communities of equally gargantuan industrial capacity were thickly spread before me with such tantalizing and alluring names like Dnipropetrovs’k, Donetsk and Zaporizhe and Kryvyi Rih—well-known to any aspiring steel magnate. But before I was able to eagerly pounce, I had my heart and sights first set on the nerve centre of this industrial magnate, Kharkov.

Actually, it was just as much a surprise to me as it no doubt is to you that it is no longer called Kharkov, but Kharkiv. This is a name change I refuse to ratify for various reasons. First of all, why are cities changing their names? I have never accepted the legitimacy of Mumbai over Bombay, Istanbul over Constantinople and I am certainly not about to make concessions for Jakarta over the much more illustrious Batavia. While I’ve been known to be torn over whether or not to refer to the capital of the Slovak Republic as Pressburg, Pozsony, or Istropolis, I cannot in good conscious worry about minor changes such as an ‘o’ to an ‘i.’ The second reason for objection, of course, is the most important and Civ II enthusiasts the world over will bellow a chorus of assent: when you play as the Russians, the name is Kharkov. Until Sid Meier retroactively releases an updated version of Civilization II with a special note alerting us to these apparently sensitive and politically-motivated name changes, I will continue to use the 1996 edition as my benchmark gold standard in history, geography and diplomacy.

Fun facts about Kharkov that you’re free to share with your friends at dinner parties: 
  1. It’s the second largest city in the Ukraine.
  2. It has the largest 6th largest public square in the world Europe.
  3. It was almost entirely rebuilt after the Second World War because whatever the Germans didn’t destroy on their push through, the Soviets surely did on their push back, hoping to make a nice, blank slate for centrally-planned urban space.
  4. It’s really, really close to Russia. I could see Russia if I squinted.
I know, right—wow!  When I first saw this picture (in Wikipedia, obviously, which has been magnanimous in its supply of pictures) I thought “omfg I have to go there!"  But when you’re in the middle of this 119,000m2 mass of concrete in late March and the winds are blowing in from the Urals, it’s actually quite cold and disappointing. 
I was greeted in Karkov by Maksim, a young entrepreneur who was my couchsurfing host. He lived in a flat with his girlfriend Nastia, a journalist, with another couple, Igor and his girlfriend. Igor was a graphic designer specialising in Adobe Photoshop. I told him I played around with a bit of graphic design too. He showed me his work, which was amazing and clearly required what I think people mean by “skill” when they list it on their CVs. I was a bit bashful when he asked me to produce an example of my work, which can be seen here. 

You had better believe this was in a square named after Taras Shevchenko.
I was charged with the tall task of preparing dinner for everyone. For every guest they have, they ask them to cook a meal that no one there has ever eaten. I naturally thought of sushi, but evidently it’s the Ukraine’s most popular dish these days. They had never eaten Mexican and while as a Canadian I am no authority on Mexican cuisine and how to properly make it, lest we forget that Ukrainians have no idea about a Canadian’s capacity to accurately prepare Mexican food, and thus my secret was safe.
We went to the supermarket for supplies, and fasten a Mexican meal out of Ukrainian victuals. Highlights included:
  • Talking to an old man who asked why I was in Ukraine. I explained to him I liked the people, the history, and then a word which, to me, was “food” in Russian but ended up being a very unsavoury curse word in Ukrainian. Of course, with my bellowing and obvious Anglo-Saxon accent, the whole store heard me holler in their native tongue, “I LOVE UKRAINIAN _____” which sent them all—especially the old man—into convulsive peals of laughter and Nastia into a bright red orb of embarrassment.
  • Discovering that you can’t buy bags of ice in the Ukraine. For a people who I was under the impression invented ice, it seemed to be in short supply. After I stared at Maksym in disbelief he shook my shoulders and said, “I KNOW! We can’t buy ice! How do we live in Ukraine!?” We settled on the fish department and to assuage the concerns of the fishmonger Maksym explained, “It’s for an American”—the universal catch-all to account for strange behaviour.
  • Using shwarma wraps to make my own tortilla chips, and winning.
The old gang, back together again.
The surprise of the evening was that I wasn’t simply going to be cooking for the four of them, but in fact for a whole Cossack hoard—11 in total. Two were business colleagues from Russia, and other friends and relatives had showed up for the spicy fiesta. I enlisted the help of the younger brother and sister of Nastia by issuing imperatives such as “перемешайте!” (mix) and “сокращение!” (cut) after holding up different items to the obedient and extremely polite young sous-chefs. It was a fantastic success in every sense of the word. We had chicken fajitas, margaritas, tortillas and salsa and then we played mafia, which any former residence advisor is very familiar with. In all, a landslide success in Ostpolitik.