Today, is to be a quiet day; domestic duties around the home.
First, Dmitry and I headed off to Novus, the nearby hypermarket where I experienced a missile scare and evacuation twelve months ago; I recall the experience; the sirens, the security services, people abandoning their trollies, the stampede to leave; and I saw not one person ‘taking advantage’ of the situation; I wondered how this might have been in our homeland.
Our first stop was to exchange money; I bring from the UK as it’s significantly better to exchange here than back home; we obtained 3% better; maybe not hugely significant but £250 goes a long way here.
I’m always fascinated to wander the aisles of Novus, the shelves overflowing with every conceivable product; really, it makes Sainsburys look like your average corner shop; the fish counter is extraordinary, the size of the Atlantic Ocean, I never knew there were so many varieties; there is a bar to rest your weary legs and to quench your thirst halfway round. I set myself the challenge to find Colmans Mustard Powder; I failed; I settled for Newcastle Brown Ale.
Then to the DIY store; Dmitry’s wife returns from France for a short stay next week; jobs must be done.
Next, to Bad Boy; the liquor store; vast; everything; and more. The branded forklift truck serves a purpose. We settled for some wine, and a bottle of Lviv premium vodka.
Finally, the butcher and the baker and home.
Dinner tonight is going to be an array of meats; pork, turkey and black sausage slow smoked for many hours in the latest of Oleg’s engineering masterpieces (today’s picture). I watched with fascination as he went about his work; Kyiv MasterChef in the back garden. The occasional visit to the kitchen to baste with some juicy marinade seasoned with herbs from ‘Mother and Father’s’ garden; Oleg’s parents have a dacha next door.
In the afternoon, the three of us took a walk to the small Osokorky village shop, an experience in itself; I frequently visit this little shop; we have an understanding; I usually emerge with what I first went in for. We followed this with a gentle 5 kms stroll around Osokorky and along the banks of the Dnipro river; this is a beautiful and tranquil area with almost not a soul to be seen; probably quieter than in past times as watersports are currently prohibited on the river.
There is a power station on the opposite bank of the river. Twelve months ago, this had been beaten into partial submission by Putin’s barbaric attack on the infrastructure; Dmitry and Oleg had been awakened by the thud of exploding missiles; I remember the plant hissing and spitting into the early hours of the following morning.
This is a fascinating, historic, area with many dachas remaining untouched from decades past. Typically, a dacha is a seasonal or year-round second home, often located in the exurbs (an area outside the denser inner suburban area) of post-Soviet countries. A small cottage or shack serving as a family’s main or only home, or an outbuilding, was not considered a dacha although some dachas have been converted to year-round residences and vice versa. The word ‘dacha’ comes from the verb ‘davat’ (to give) and originally referred to land allotted by the tsar to his nobles; the dacha in Soviet times is similar to the allotment in some Western countries – a piece of land allotted, normally free, to citizens by the local government for gardening or growing vegetables for personal consumption. With time the name for the land was also applied to the building on it.
And, home for Oleg’s slow smoked delicacies; a feast indeed.
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