Podillya to Crimea

pic of lake and grotto

Sofiyivska Park in Uman, named after Sofia, a young Greek woman reputedly so beautiful she inspired her husband to build her this park in central Ukraine.

International Women’s Day is a significant celebration here – I’ve never seen so many people on the metro with flowers, we all got a day off work, and I made a trip to Uman (which happens to rhyme with Woman) by bus with an English teacher friend, Anastasiia.

Our destination was Sofiyivskii Park, created by a Polish aristocrat for his wife, Sofia, on her birthday in 1802. As a child, Sofia had been sold to a Polish Ambassador by her widowed mother; and was bought and sold throughout her life before she married Count Potocki.  She ended up having a tempestuous love affair with the Count’s stepson, which drove the Count to leave Uman, never to return. You can’t buy love, or at least you can’t buy everlasting love, even if you can make an everlastingly lovely park.

pic of lake

The Park was designed by architect Ludwig Metzel “to outshine any other park in Europe”, and it is indeed beautiful. We explored the gardens, grottoes and lakes; saw a red squirrel, warrior beatles, and a woodpecker; and found a man selling handmade wooden trinkets.

An impromptu celebration with rum
An impromptu celebration with rum!

His friends invited us to share rum and chocolate in the sunshine: so we drank 3 toasts – to Women in acknowledgement of International Women’s Day, to Ukraine, and to Love. You could almost hear the Polish Count turning in his grave!

060And from there to Vinnitsa – where we were greeted by a strangely lonely wedding dress on display in the bus station; and a day spent visiting the Museum of Nikolai Pirogov, an eminent surgeon whose home and pharmacy are now open to visitors.

Pirogov's MausoleumBut before the Museum, the Mausoleum – when he died aged 88, his wife had him embalmed, and we were taken into the cold marbled depths of this chapel to view the doctor’s body, now 130 years older, on display in a glass-topped coffin, surrounded by bouquets of plastic flowers.

Fishing in Vinnitsa

Fishing in Vinnitsa

Inside Pirogov’s home, we saw displayed the tools of this surgeon who had tried to mend the men wounded & shattered in the Crimean Wars of the mid nineteenth century. Outside the doctor’s estate today, men fished in the sunshine. I saw the first snowdrops, and my second red squirrel of the weekend; and all seemed peaceful.

But in Crimea now, in 2014, the Russian army is tightening its grip and the schism between Russia and Ukraine is widening.

I was actually supposed to be visiting Sevastopol in Crimea at the weekend, but the trip was called off because of the unstable and worsening position there. The referendum that’s been called for March 16 by the Crimean regional council is illegal, and the self-appointed leader of Crimea has no mandate to represent anyone. People who define themselves as Russian in Crimea number about 56%, (Ukrainians and Crimean Tartars make up about 34% of the region’s population) and it’s unlikely that even all of them want to become part of Russia…but the outcome of this week’s referendum will be rigged.

pic of waxworks

Waxworks of Dr Pirogov at work in his pharmacy

Most of the Crimean Tartars were deported by Stalin, but some have returned since the region became part of Ukraine. But since the arrival of Russian troops, many fear attack.

So do we face the prospect of another Crimean War? At least one colleague at the British Council thinks so and has left his job to respond to the call up by the Ukraine Army who are now training new conscripts for battle.

“Along the whole line of the Sevastopol bastions, which for so many months now had been seething with an unusually active life, had seen heroes released one by one into the arms of death, and had aroused the fear, hatred and latterly the admiration of the enemy forces, there was now not a soul to be seen. The whole place was laid waste, uncanny – but not quiet: the destruction was still continuing…….

Surging together and ebbing apart like the waves of the sea on this gloomy swell-rocked night, uneasily shuddering with all its massive volume, swaying out along the bridge and over on the North side by the bay, the Sevastopol force moved slowly in a dense, impenetrable crush away from the place where it had left behind so many brave men, the place that was entirely saturated in its blood; the place which for eleven months it had held against an enemy twice as powerful, and which it had now been instructed to abandon without a struggle.”

Leo Tolstoy, Sevastopol in August 1855

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