If you’ve never been to Lviv, Easter time is probably the best
time to go. Since the Julian calendar often celebrates later than the
Gregorian, spring is farther along. With any luck, you’ll have pretty well perfect
weather.
A
couple of friends and I left a slightly overcast Kyiv by car on May 1st, the
beginning of this year’s holidays. By 15:00, we had rolled into
Ivano-Frankivsk, where Mykhailo, our sinfully fast driver left us. Slavko and
his five-year-old got off just before 17:00 at the village of Noviy Rozdil.
That left me to cruise into L’viv alone, just in time for supper.
My
hostess Olha was in the midst of a cooking frenzy, so the selection was good.
Green borshch with a nice dollop of sour cream. Fresh baton and kovbasa. A salad of shredded cabbage,
carrots, tomato and onions in horseradish mayonnaise with dill on top.
For
dessert, syrnyky made
of farmer’s cheese with cherries, walnuts and raisins mixed in. I smothered
mine in sour cream. Olha and her 14-year-old daughter chose home-made black
currant jam. We washed it all down with some nice hot tea.
This
was the beginning of the Easter eating pentathlon.
Olha
and Yustina had already made three coffee cakes and were busy on a fourth. One
was crisply layered with walnuts, poppyseed and cherries. Another one was
spotted like a dairy cow with huge patches of ground poppyseed. A third was
filled with cherries. While we yakked, Olha cooked up a chocolate icing.
The
next morning, Holy Thursday, was traditionally a cleaning day. But Olha had
some last-minute shopping and I needed a haircut.
Stariy Rynok, the old
market, was doing brisk business in an amazing array of foodstuffs, flowers and
Easter goodies. Candles, pastry lambs, pysanky.
People had come from the Kosiv region to sell the traditional hand-painted
eggs. For 50¢, you could pick from dozens of trays up and down the street. I
bought a hollowed egg covered in beadwork for about $2.50.
Olha
began Holy Saturday morning dyeing eggs a rich onion skin color. By afternoon,
it was time to prepare two baskets for the Easter blessing. I scraped some
horseradish roots while Olha laid out kovbasa, smoked ham, salt, cheese,
butter, and two Paskas, Easter breads.
Her
husband brought in decorative barvinok
and samshyt –
periwinkles and box tree greens – from the garden, as well as six vintage pysanky. We carefully packed
each basket and covered it with embroidered cloth.
It
was time to join the thousands headed for L’viv’s main park, Shevchenkivskiy Hai –
pronounced “high.” Every family carried baskets to the dale, where the Easter
ritual had started in the churchyard at 15:00. By the time we had paid respects
to the ploshchanytsia,
the glass painting of Christ in his tomb, the fourth round of blessings was just
beginning.
Placing
our baskets on the grass in the gathering circle, Yustina lit four candles. The
wind kept putting them out.
Young
couples held their babies while grandparents snapped pictures. Girls in
pinafores and boys in new suits chased around the grass. Behind us, voices sang
Easter verses. Dressed in a black hat and short cape with a dramatic green and
yellow checked chasuble underneath, the black-bearded abbot finally began his
round. Sprinkling holy water on baskets and owners alike, he intoned the Easter
blessing.
As
soon as we got back to the house, Yustina wailed, “I haven’t eaten since last
night.” That was all the excuse we needed to break out the blessed food right
then and there. Late that evening, Olha stuffed some sconces with mocha cream.
Dessert Nº5.
Easter
Day was the most glorious food moment of all. Everything that had been so
painstakingly prepared the previous three days was now hauled out, laid out on
good china, and set on the dining room table. There was a tray of freshly cut
Paska bread; a platter of sliced smoked pork shank and olives; a plate of egg
halves sprinkled with fresh horseradish; a platter of cod-liver salad on
lettuce; a plate of sliced kovbasa and ham; a bowl of apple and egg salad;
another with shredded cabbage, greens, tomatoes, and peas in mayonnaise
dressing; a plate of garnished carp slices; chicken in aspic; a small bowl of
egg and horseradish spread; another of beet and horseradish.
We
toasted with home-made wine and Carpathian cognac while the sun rose and the
day grew warmer. By dessert-and-coffee time, I was feeling somewhat
incapacitated.
“Time
to work off those calories,” said Roman. We headed back to Shevchenkivskiy Hai
to join in the spring rituals known as haïvky.
It
seemed half of L’viv had come out. Particularly the half under 20. A cluster of
nuns and postulants in embroidered blouses and black tunics sang songs as we
queued at the gate.
We
toured the preserved houses, barns, bee keeps, stables, churches and schools.
Near us, a dozen young recruits in camouflage did likewise, guided by an
elderly nun. In every open area, people were playing and singing.
In
the main meadow, young people and children had formed circles and were
performing rounds. Oy vesno,
vesno, Podolianochka, Viyu
vinets. Teams of girls challenged teams of boys. Tugs-o-war. Maypoles. I
couldn’t remember when I’d last seen a crowd of teenagers playing around like
kids.
Many
girls wore embroidered blouses over top ordinary jeans and mini-skirts. So many
shapes, colors and designs. There were no two alike in the entire crowd. Tiny
little Halychanky
wandered around proudly decked out in headband, blouse, vest, waistband and
long reddish-brown skirt. But not many boys or men had gone native.
There
was one down side this beautiful afternoon.
If
you wanted a taste of Ukraine – some Dobra
voda or Zhyvchyk
to quench your thirst or a slice of makivnyk
or yabluneviy pyrih to
stave off dinner – there was nothing. Not even a bag of chips. Just a pump of
well-water where you could fill your own bottle – if you had one.
If
you wanted a souvenir of Lviv, a memento of the Hai, an embroidered towel or
shirt to take away, there was nothing.
At
Shevchenkivskiy Hai, Christ may have risen, but commerce is very much
dead. •
–from the
notebooks of Pan O.
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