I Would Do Anything For One More Moment There
A place that made me before I became *this.*
October 14, 2022
Happy Friday, travelers!
This week, I write to you from a sunny Florida that is healing ever so slowly. Although it seems life is continuing as normal on the east coast, reminders of Ian are everywhere. Public beach access areas aren’t structurally sound. Most entries are closed.
The Flagler County website warns that, beneath the surface of the Atlantic’s turquoise waters, debris lurks from God-knows-where. Glass, splintered wood, bent metal. In the seemingly normal surf, sharp objects hide. The Pizza Hut on A1A has roof shingles blown off, gone with Tuesday’s wind. Piles of debris rest at the shoulder of the road, waiting to be hauled off.
There are many things travel has taught me, and one of them is this: you may think you’ve got a plan, but nature will come back and humble you.
Before I became Sarah L. Travels, I had a plan, too. And it was blown to smithereens by circumstances I sometimes still can’t believe. But before everything changed, before I changed, in the dawn of that dream as it came to fruition, before it turned dark with its realities so different from any expectation, it was bliss. It was worth every hour spent working, achieving, hoping.
Some days, I would do anything for one more moment in Zhytomyr.
Recently, an Instagram follower and I were chatting in DMs and we somehow ended up on the topic of Ukraine. Many readers that came recently don’t know I lived there for six months, starting in late summer, through fall, and into winter. I was back in Music City before the cherry blossoms bloomed.
My time in Ukraine was for a job. And when I wasn’t working with local nonprofits, I lived with a babusya. In Cyrillic script, it looks like this: Бабуся. You’ve likely heard of a babushka, which is the Russian word for grandma. In Ukrainian, it’s babusya—the Russian speakers I knew also called their grandmas by this word instead of its Russian counterpart.
On the first day I moved in with this host family, a stout woman less than five feet tall came up to me, her wide hips moving before the rest of her. She was beautiful, with warm, kind brown eyes and a bright smile. On this day, she wore a vibrant lipstick, either pink or red. I completely understood her efforts—I’d dressed up, too.
By her side was a fresh-faced, gangly boy who couldn’t be older than 14. Unsurprisingly, he was a foot taller than me and two feet taller than who I assumed was his babusya. As I walked away from the crowd of the other Americans, headed for them, as they realized I was their Amerikanka, all three of us beamed at one another. Intros aside, we hopped in their sedan, due north, made a left, and stopped just behind Café Lavanda.
My new home was the living room, bright and airy in the sunlight and cozy in the dark. In Ukraine, it’s common to sleep on a sofa that folds into a bed similar to a futon. Mine was one of the most comfortable places I’ve ever slept.
Rugs adorned the walls of earthy colors braided in kaleidoscope patterns. A large china cabinet held family photos and other mementos, their memories proudly on display.
My favorite part of this apartment, though, was its adorable kitchen. That room was the literal heart of this home, where I spent many an hour with my host babusya and sister watching Tantsi z zirkamy (Ukrainian Dancing with the Stars) and eating some of the best food I’ve ever tasted. Pan-fried eggplant,1 tomato-heavy borscht, dark brown breads and casseroles that were so piping hot the babusya opened the window of the crisp fall evenings to cool them off.
It was moments like these, thousands of miles from Music City, where I made a home so different from any other place. In more ways than one, Zhytomyr made me, too.
I look back now, somewhat older and wiser. There are moments I still can’t believe I stepped on that plane with no knowledge of the work I would do, where I would live, or with whom.
I just knew that it was an adventure, and those are always worth the risk.
Now, parts of Zhytomyr look like this.
And that sweet grandma moved on. Away from her home, from the warmth of the cozy space she built and nurtured, to safety in a new land. As much as I’d love to go back to our dinners in the cooling nights as summer made way to fall, I know my desire is but a grain of sand in comparison to hers.
If there is any moment in life, anywhere in the world you could return to, even if it’s just for a day, what would it be?
What’s On My Tray Table
Two nights ago, I finished Book Lovers.
I think it’s time to stop trying to like contemporary fiction (unless it’s literary).
I won’t judge this book harshly, because it really is a cute love story. But the lack of tension, the setting of a place that’s too similar to what I already know—it’s just not for me. Emily Henry has another novel due in 2023, but I don’t think I’ll read it. Even if the whole world says it’s the best, I’ll leave it to them.
Don’t get me wrong. I love romance, and I love a good book.
But to me, a good book is one set far, far away, either in time or place. This is why the majority of my picks take place in the 1940s about 1,000 miles away.
I give this rom-com hardback 4 stars. Here are links for Amazon and Bookshop. If you liked Beach Read, you’ll also like Book Lovers. In my opinion, People We Meet On Vacation is still her best!
Since I finished Book Lovers, I started Crying in H Mart. I can already tell it will be one of my favorite memoirs, just from the first 20 pages. Michelle Zauner’s writing is achingly beautiful.
Because novels are friends and every nonfiction pick needs one, I also started The Yellow Bird Sings. It was a summer reading pick for this year that became a fall pick.
I was hooked from the first sentence.
I hope your weekend is warm, whether it be from the sun itself, the smile of a loved one, your heart, or all three.
Be brave and stay that way,
Sarah
And I don’t even LIKE eggplant. That’s how good it was.
I'm one of the new readers who had no idea you lived in Ukraine. This is such a lovely story. Thank you for sharing. I'm sure your time there has made watching the events of the last ~8 months all the more heartbreaking.