Joy-giver

was one of the names listed by the authors of the liner notes for "Planet Squeezebox"as a colloquial term for "accordion." I think Samim would agree. You should watch this, it came on Ukrainian  MTV just recently and, indeed, filled me with joy.

Today, I ventured to Yalta, a quick 2 hour marshrutka ride from Simferopol. I forgot my camera. But, I did get to hear three street musicians, all accordionists (!), two on bayan, one on piano accordion. All wearing fingerless gloves. One had a pretty sweet cover of Stevie Wonder's "She's so Lovely." 

I went to Yalta mostly to find out what the University offers as far as Crimean-Tatar language instruction goes (nothing, it turns out, so no more scheming to get to the coast for me) and to visit the Museum of Lesia Ukrayinka in Yalta. I arrived at the museum in time to interrupt a "tekhnichna pererva" which was not actually a technical break at all, though technically, I suppose, it was someone's birthday, so they took a break. Everyone there spoke Ukrainian, which was relaxing for my brain. Also, no one there was especially rude to me, which was a nice break for me. I think they may have been toasting just as I walked in.

I don't know if it's more jarring after traveling last in Asia, but I'm beginning to see "rudeness to strangers" as a real future obstacle for Ukrainian tourism. Rudeness in the home is quite uncommon, on the contrary, in the home Ukrainians, Crimeans, Russians, all seem to be overly hospitable and generous and kind. But you ask someone where the marshrutka stop is and they sneer and spit on the sidewalk. Compare this to when Susan and Tom and I merely paused to look at a map in the middle of downtown Tokyo and strangers would come up to us to ask if we were lost. And then guide us to where we needed to go. Walk us there, even. They would walk us past the rockabilly boys and the Lolita goths, even if it was out of the way. Seriously, this happened.

Today, the best conversation I had started off the worst. I walked into the University in Yalta and the gatekeeper woman - she controls all the keys - glared at me. I asked her if I could see the bandura exhibit and she said no. I asked her if there was anyone from the music department I could talk to and she said, flatly, nyet. I asked her a few more questions to monosyllabic answers. Nyet nyet nyet. Then I stood for a minute, smiled sweetly, and said, slowly, "When do you think I might possibly see the bandura exhibit? I travelled very far to see the bandura exhibit." I continued to smile and stand there, brimming with respect for her gatekeeping ways. She melted a little, I could see it. And then suddenly, she was asking me questions, talking about Tatars, speaking at a Russian clip I couldn't quite keep up with. In the end, she showed me everything, gave me the phone numbers of many people I wanted to talk to, even took me next door to the post office to find out what code I needed to dial these people's homes with my Kyivan cell phone. And wished me well, told me to do good, to come back and visit anytime. That was unexpected. 

Oh blog, thank you for allowing me to rant.

And thanks to all those of you who weighed in with your opinion on my new song. Ryan thinks it sounds more Vashti Bunyanesque than the other one, which is a nice thing to say. No perfect rhymes in there, huh? You try "Simferopol."