Why is it so hard to go home and then come back again?
Last time I was at home a one and a half year ago. So I prepare myself for cultural shock and wonder what kind of surprise Ukrainian fashion has got for me this time.
The whole trip takes me more than 13 hours. I come to Doneck, pass the passport control, pick up my baggage – there is no belt, just a trailer where you find your bag and pull it down. I meet my mom and at once she gets into quarrel with taxi drivers. They follow us all the way to the bus stop. I am exhausted by the trip and don’t understand why so much drama about a bloody taxi which we don’t need. Well, welcome to Ukraine. And this is only a start.
I feel like I fell from another planet into this city. Everything is so strange to me. People talk too loud, and their Ukrainian accent is too intense for me. Eyes are annoyed by the clothes of bright colors which I never saw in Oslo: yellow, blue and pink. I am like a newborn baby, depending on my family to provide me with cash, food and water. And I don’t know at all how things function in this place. There is no running hot water. There is too much noise and life. Our flat is in the 5th floor, and the windows are open all night because it’s warm. Even after midnight I hear people chatting or dogs having a fight.
On my first day I go to the dentist, then buy a mobile card and do some shopping. Still with a headache after the trip, feeling alien and still in shock. I go around with iPod in my ears trying to create my own world, where some things are familiar to me. I don’t understand what is expensive and what is cheap in this place. Shop assistants look like I distract them from the most important task in their life and their face says: “if you aren’t buying, better melt away”. So I melt away. It is too warm, too full on the streets, people stare too much. And then the biggest shock: clothes and faces. In the past 4 years I was in Ukraine only in winter, so summer fashion is like a discovery for me. Girls look more like prostitutes or striptease dancers. Guys look like they were just let out of the prison. And commercials are way too sex-obsessed. Talks are coarse to my ear, and everyone swears too much. And every person you know is asking: “so did you find yourself a Norwegian husband?” Everyone almost shouts into mobile, and there are many mobile talks on the bus.
But I learn fast. I recollect that cars will not let you go on zebra crossing, so if you want to live, better wait. And that our bus drivers feel like in Formula 1: they can start with people still getting on or off, and they will compete with other busses on the road. So if you stand on a bus (which is mostly the case), better hold with both hands. And still take care of your bag, since transport is the most popular place to say good-bye to your purse and mobile. I learn to always carry with me toilet paper and anti-bacterial napkins. And to ignore the look and the smell of public toilets. To double-check the change and expire dates on products. To share drinks with my friend from one bottle and one cup. Never to drink water from the tub and always care that we have 5-liters bottle full at home. I learn that running water is turned off at 11pm, and can be turned off during the day. Shop assistants still look at me like I am a bum, but I learn that their month salary is just a bit more than the price of the shoes they are selling – so I just ignore their looks. I learn that you can get a really huge fine for crossing the street at the red light, so I wait even if the street is empty.
So I overcome the shock and start enjoying cheap fast food, some nice shops, milkshakes, REAL taste of vegetables and fruit, evening walks when the heat is gone. I get used to the rubbish on the streets flying in the wind, crowds of street dogs and rudeness of people. I get used that people stare at me – so I stare at them. I am still not used to the most unexpected cuts in girls’ clothes, but that can be fun. I go around with my best friend and camera, laughing, taking pictures of the people and posters, checking out funny items on the market. Hearing from time to time “such an idiot” at our backs, but this is mostly about him, not me ;). I get used to the noise outside my windows at midnight. I get used to the fact that people think I am still under 20. And to the judging look in the girls’ eyes.
And then I fall in love with the land when I go on the hill in Ukrainian step and see the sunset. I fall in love with smells, and the warm wind, and birds’ singing, and wild flowers. And when the +40 heat goes away, I am back on the streets, going my old routes, recollecting my past, and trying to find a part of me in these old buildings and roads. I get nostalgic, listen to Ukrainian radio which is full of 80s and 90s songs, stand on the balcony and smell the night air after the rain. One of the best smells, which takes me back to my youth and to my young dreams.
This place is mine. I feel so much myself with my friends who share their food and drinks without a second thought. I know how things function here (and how they don’t, which is often). And even if many things make me crazy – still they are familiar. And the feeling of total strangeness goes away. The feeling which I’ve been living with through so many years.
This is why it is so hard to go back to Oslo. Even if everything functions much better there. And toilets are so clean and have paper. And people are so polite and quite. Where no one gives you a second look, and you feel all right in your old jeans and shoes. But suddenly I miss that crazy place called Lugansk. Not because I didn’t have enough time to buy nail polish, eat more fruit and fast food pancakes, walk more in the old town, take more pictures of advertisements and girls (though these are good reasons too;)). But because there I felt like a foreigner only for the first two days. And here in Oslo I am reminded of it daily.
So here is the lesson I’ve learnt: home is a place where the feeling of extreme strangeness goes away. And friends are the people who help with that and give you the feeling of belonging together.
