I drew a little notice. First by a burly fellow who tried to point me in the direction of “Departures” because, with two bags, I was obviously going somewhere. No, I said in Ukrainian, “I want to go over there.” At his insistence that I wanted to go to the right, not left, I said adamantly, “No! I’m waiting.” He got my point and left me alone. This was shortly after I’d gotten there. Thirty minutes before my parents were due to arrive, I finally couldn’t take the mounting pressure anymore and bounded out of my seat to stand in the waiting crowd for arriving flights.

Then another large, forward man asked me if I needed a taxi for 150 hryven. “Maybe I’ll want a taxi later,” I said, thinking I certainly wouldn’t be taking for a fool again about the cost of taxis (the price of a taxi from Boryspil to the train station at Christmas had cost me a fortune). My friend had given me the number of a firm that would charge 115 if I called them to come. However, I hadn’t ruled out the possibility of bargaining my way down to that price with one of these guys here. The man took this as an imminent transaction and stationed a man at my side. I only noticed that this guy was still right behind me 20 minutes later when I decided a bathroom break would take up a few minutes. The man asked if I was ready to go and I said, “No, the plane is late, I’m going to the toilet.” I didn’t see him when I got back out.

The flight had the audacity of being 20 minutes late and then I had to wait MINUTES, MINUTES! for my parents to get through customs while my head filled with thoughts of how maybe they hadn’t made a flight, something had gone wrong, but at last, they came through the sliding door that had been driving me mad into the public part of the airport. Pushing a cart piled with a mountain of luggage. A mountain. And suddenly there was nothing to say but, “Have you come to LIVE here?”

We headed towards the airport exit and I stayed alert for the perfect taxi driver. I like to look for the kindly ones. A driver noticed us and made his bid of 150 and I countered (my phone out and ready) that I had a better offer, and he lowered his price to 120, and we accepted.

I walked out of that airport with the glow of victory. I had my parents AND I had bargained successfully. As the driver then tried to fit all of our luggage into his car like a jigsaw puzzle, he muttered that we needed our own mashrutka (small van-like bus).

Yes, probably true.

Last Monday I thought, "Next Monday I will be in Ukraine. In Ukraine ." Well, now I am in Ukraine. I arrived in Kiev on Monday. The travel was a blur of sleepiness, delayed flights, general confusion, following signs, and standing in lines. I was in Kyiv for two days with the other 85 students who will eventually be teachers. We stayed in a dormitory, received more orientation and information. The toilets in our dormitory were western seats, with thick brown toilet paper. The public toilets were ceramic tiles around holes in the ground. These are typical of many eastern countries. They were clean, like any other toilet stall, just without seats. On Wednesday, we broke into assigned groups of five and traveled by bus to our training sites in small villages. Then, we broke away from our groups completely to go to our host families.

I laid in bed that first night, wide-eyed, lying in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar house with unfamiliar electricity and food, in an unfamiliar country. My feelings were mixed; confusion, sadness, fear, anticipation. I am staying with a mother, father, grandmother, grandfather and daughter. They have been amazing and welcoming. The daughter – we'll call her Sestra which is the phonetic pronunciation of 'sister' in Ukrainian – has been learning English in school and knows a little. The rest of the family knows nothing. They are eager to point at objects and get me to say them.

While we stay here we will receive at least four hours of Ukrainian language lessons a day from our Ukrainian instructor who came with us, and also lessons in technical teaching. We will have lots of homework and take field trips on Saturdays.

We are the first American Peace Corps Volunteers to come to this village. Often, volunteers come after previous ones. My host family asked to see photos; they asked about my family and America. I told them that we speculated about Ukraine before we came and know that there is a lot of vodka and potatoes. They laughed and laughed. Sestra said that they do not drink a lot of vodka in this family. I was surprised.

They have a cow and pigs. I drank milk that came from the cow, tonight. Now I will wait to see how my stomach feels about that.

Sestra asked me last night, "Do you like meat from a pig?"

"Yes, I said, "it is called pork."

"On Saturday, we will we will have that," she said. "We will kill the pig and then…"

"Then we will have pork?!" I asked, my eyes wide. And the family laughed.

Their house is nicer than I expected. They have a western toilet and a shower that rivals mine in the states. It even has an electronic radio system in the shower. The stairs up to my bedroom are so steep it's almost like a ladder. We have hot water and a washing machine.

Not all houses in the village are this nice. Our teacher has to boil water to get heated water in his house, where we have our lessons. He does not have an indoor bathroom. His outhouse is the scariest thing I've ever seen. Two pieces of board over a pit. We might be afraid we'll fall into the outhouses in the states? Not even close. Here, it is a possibility. Yesterday and today, I waited until I could get home to my nice bathroom.

While I did buy two electrical converters and adapters for my computer and curling irons, I did not buy a surge protector with the proper adaptation. I tried to plug it in the first night and there was a pop and the lights went out.  My stomach dropped and I thought "Nice, I just murdered the electricity of these nice people who have let me stay in their home."

"Do you have a breaker?" I asked Sestra and she looked at me blankly. "A switch?" I asked. Her father knew what to do and the lights came back on. Then he examined the surge protector for awhile, then my other appliances, and my computer, and I kept trying to explain that I would just have to buy a protector here, and I think he finally agreed with me.

There is so much new that I have no time to be homesick (not that I don't feel a small ache when I think of my family and friends). Last night, Sestra and her family taught me a card game called "Fool" using the Russian cards I purchased on Semester at Sea. The Russian cards do not have numbers 1 to 5 and I was excited to learn how to play a game with this deck. I also did some homework, and it was frustrating. I wish I already knew the language! I really do feel like a 5-year-old. Learning how to speak, read, pronunciate, write, socialize, survive.

New thing highlights:

1. I ate several different forms of fish two nights ago, before gently letting them know that I don't like fish. I also ate mushrooms and bell pepper because I figured that one lesson regarding my pickiness was enough for one night.

2. I ate a whole piece of garlic yesterday with Borsht, a nationwide Ukrainian dish. It is a tomato and cabbage soup. Not bad. The soup, not the garlic. The garlic was okay, burned my mouth. And then I think I smelled.