tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73689188876017961132024-03-13T06:18:42.608+02:00Filed Awaypre-blog stuff, mostlyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918887601796113.post-9489096508708987582018-10-22T12:26:00.000+02:002018-10-22T13:08:16.107+02:00Amazing Places on This PlanetMay 5, 2018
Večer (in Slovenian)
Friday, April 27
I’ve been walking around Kyiv too much these past few weeks. Today, I’ve done 15 km. The city’s such a happy place again, after half a year of winter’s cold and gloom.
Yesterday, I suddenly realized that 32 years ago, when the Chernobyl Power Plant blew up on April 26, 1986, everything was exactly the same as it is now: people were drunk withUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918887601796113.post-4948992958959702762007-03-16T02:36:00.000+02:002007-03-16T02:38:33.933+02:00New Kids on the BlocNovember 26, 2004The New York TimesKiev, UkraineA family friend who has a 17-year-old son told me this last week: "Young people today are so different from what we used to be, or even from what your generation is. They don't have our fear - they don't know it. But they know their rights, and they know how to defend them. They aren't scared to."With Ukraine now gripped in a political crisis Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918887601796113.post-30906691683782552882007-03-16T02:25:00.000+02:002007-03-16T02:29:31.985+02:00Diary of a ProtesterNovember 25, 2004The GuardianThis is an extract from the blog of Veronica KhokhlovaWednesday November 24 3.15amAt 3am, the city's so loud you'd think it's daytime. In our backyard, there's always someone peeing - boys, not girls, of course, for it's too cold for a girl to pee outdoors now: cold and snowing. But tonight, somehow, I'm not mad at those who use us as a toilet. I'm sitting in my cosy,Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918887601796113.post-81942168366382712972007-03-16T01:30:00.000+02:002007-03-16T01:57:56.196+02:00Old Woman (St. Petersburg, Russia)September 21, 2004BBC News: In PicturesPhotographer of the Year: SolitudeUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918887601796113.post-48716671702085895292007-02-12T16:25:00.000+02:002007-02-12T02:25:48.407+02:00A Day in the Life: Moscow, RussiaMarch 15-21, 2004Scene From My LifeMonday - March 15, 2004An 1817 exhibition center right next to Kremlin is on fire on the night following Russia's presidential election. Pretty wild.***Tuesday - March 16, 2004Sredniy Kislovskiy Pereulok, one of those tiny narrow streets where it's always comparatively quiet. Here, it's easy to forget about that HUGE traffic jam just a minute away - easy to Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918887601796113.post-12399344671437276992007-02-12T02:04:00.001+02:002011-08-07T03:23:36.001+02:00Ordeals in VyborgMay 26, 2004
The Morning News
A tiny TV news item catches my attention: Residents of Kholui, a village in the region of Ivanovo, are expecting to profit from spring flooding this year. They’ve launched a seasonal “Middle-Russian Venice” tour project, and now, in addition to buying the famous Kholui lacquered boxes, tourists can enjoy guided boat trips around the village’s flooded streets, Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918887601796113.post-14903691332508901282007-02-12T01:59:00.000+02:002007-02-12T01:52:17.474+02:00Remembering ChernobylApril 26, 2004The Morning NewsOn April 23, one day after the North Korean train explosion, a BBC World news anchor talked live to Stanislav Varivoda, a Pyongyang correspondent for ITAR-TASS, Russia’s largest state-owned news agency. With an accent that sounded Korean to me and Ukrainian to my husband, Varivoda described one of the side effects of the secrecy surrounding the disaster: the Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918887601796113.post-6999281679066715932007-02-12T01:43:00.001+02:002011-08-07T03:22:20.105+02:00The Housewife's Hay MarketMarch 8, 2004
The Morning News
1.
On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. Bridge.
Thus begins Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s 1866 novel, Crime and Punishment. The young man is Rodion Raskolnikov; the fictional ‘S. Place’ is what we call Stolyarniy Pereulok; ‘K. Bridge’ is known Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918887601796113.post-43593210861881786992007-02-12T01:21:00.000+02:002007-02-12T01:36:57.254+02:00Ali's PicturesSummer 2003Gowanus But where we live we speak only of death and think of somewhere else-- Karen Alkalay-GutAli falls asleep immediately after a long day of trying to be what she cannot be. She tries to be a newspaper reporter; but she doesn’t really want to be one. She just needs to make some money over the summer to stop being dependent on her parents. She’s exhausted from running all over Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918887601796113.post-8464737145890059662007-02-12T01:15:00.000+02:002007-02-12T01:15:45.122+02:00Farewell to ShevardnadzeNovember 2003Euro-Correspondent.comIt's getting seriously cold here in St. Petersburg, and I am desperately trying to fight off the urge to hibernate. The past few weeks have been a success, for all the wrong reasons. Stuck so relatively close to the North Pole, I've been watching the news from all those blessed, warm localities - Israel, Iraq and Turkey: every single day, so much shock and pain,Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918887601796113.post-28647348640933052342007-01-02T22:44:00.000+02:002007-02-12T01:15:20.238+02:00Red DuskJuly 2003Newtopia MagazineI'm on a train again and there's a fly in my compartment. It may move freely around the car but is unlikely to ever manage to slip out into the bigger world: all the windows are shut - because the air conditioner is on. Trapped inside the train car, this fly will never zigzag over the fresh raw meat at a crowded bazaar. It'll never mate under a Bohemian crystal Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918887601796113.post-67929013329151146862006-11-28T00:25:00.000+02:002007-02-12T01:14:53.255+02:00Ten-Twenty-ThreeMarch 2003Newtopia MagazineNovember 2003The Story GardenIn times of distress, I turn to Italian pop music of the 1980s: Riccardo Fogli and Pupo have the strongest therapeutic effect on me. Passionate yet soothing, and only God knows what they are singing about in this wonderful language of theirs. Must be love, sunshine and the breathtaking blue-eyed beauties. I continue thinking my gloomy Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918887601796113.post-28899688471162911722006-11-28T00:13:00.000+02:002007-02-12T01:14:49.732+02:00The Demographic Crisis in UkraineFebruary 2003Newtopia MagazineIn 1995, my first journalistic mentor recommended that I try writing a piece on the demographic crisis in Ukraine. All I had to say then was, "What crisis? My best high school friend is about to give birth, and at least a dozen other acquaintances are also pregnant. We're gonna have plenty new babies real soon!"I'm now aware of the issue's extreme complexity, but Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918887601796113.post-30464079619567802852006-11-27T23:35:00.001+02:002009-11-30T04:33:03.421+02:00Am I a Woman or What?September 2002Newtopia Magazine"Last summer, someone at work called me 'cutie' - and only now, after taking this class, do I realize how offensive that was," announced a petite blonde sitting next to me in a classroom full of women. Some nodded with approval, others lowered their eyes sympathetically, but none smiled.This is, indeed, an excellent reason to attend college, I thought. Where else Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918887601796113.post-79135322674542617132006-11-26T21:31:00.000+02:002006-11-27T23:33:19.051+02:00Evil TrainsMay 20023 A.M. MagazineMarch 1999: At work in a makeshift office on the Uzhgorod-Kyiv train.My friend and a former colleague was once asked to do a skit on our typical working day at one American NGO in Ukraine. She began by describing a typical morning, when a woman in railway uniform wakes us up at 7 a.m., barging into our compartment and blaring, "Get up, we're approaching the sanitary zone, Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0