Yesterday turned out to have some unexpected, and unwanted, excitement. After a few hours in the office, I met Pierre at the metro station to go to the Chornobyl Museum. The metro is often quite packed, but I was surprised by the “rush-hour” size of crowd we found at 2:30 in the afternoon.
It was a classic pickpocket scenario, a huge mass of people squeezing into an already full metro car, and my purse got jammed in between people as I was shoved forward. Someone managed to pop it open and pull out the wallet. I felt immediately that my purse was being pulled and tried to pull it closer but was too late. When I finally got a good hold on my purse, my wallet was gone. I was kind of stunned, a bit confused, and didn’t know what to do. I tried to look around on the floor, thinking maybe it had fallen out. In the confusion I missed the next stop, but then I started telling people around me that someone stole my wallet. I don’t know what I expected them to do, but I guess I was hoping for some Citizen Action or something. The most anyone did or said was to tell me to go find the police. I got off at the next station, the second from where I had started, and went up to one of the workers at the entrance gates. She called the station police officer, who took me to their small “office”, which I think if I was so disoriented and upset, I would have found to be a fascinating place – a small cage/holding cell, miserable cement walls, an ancient desk with an even more ancient rotary telephone, and a bench along one wall. I couldn’t remember the Russian word for “wallet” but opened my purse, revealing the empty space and said someone took my money and documents. Really, the money didn’t worry me so much as did the loss of my UN ID and my bank cards. Those would be a pain to replace, I knew. The officer asked a bunch of questions and wrote down my information. “What’s your name? Where are you from?” (My name, which seems so simple in English, never fails to baffle people here. Double letters aren’t common in words or names in Russian, and when you’ve got 3 sets of double letters, plus a name that just doesn’t sound write in Russian, it takes some time to get my name written down. Thank goodness for bi-lingual business cards!) “What was in the wallet?” (‘kylochik’, that’s the word!) “What station did it happen at? Why didn’t you go to the police in the first station? Did you see anybody near you?” Yeah, only about half of Kiev!
Then he started trying to call the police at the other stations, getting no-answers and/or busy signals. Finally he got through to somebody someplace, and he asked them to pass along to the guys at the first station what had happened. Then he told me I’d have to wait about 30 minutes as the officers checked the stations, and he suggested I could wait outside, if I wanted. Pierre and I went up into the fresh air and I called my parents to have them cancel my U.S. bank card, and then suddenly I remembered my Ukrainian bank card was in the wallet, too, and so we went back to the police office to use their phone to call my bank here. Just as I was about to call, the phone rang, the officer answered and listened for a minute, then hung up and told me might want to wait before I called my bank. A wallet had been found in the first station after where I had gotten on, matching the description I had given, and I could go get it from the officer there. “There’s no money in it, of course,” he said, “but your cards may be there.” Wow! I’ve heard a lot of stories from disgruntled and disillusioned Ukrainians about the uselessness of the police, but I was pretty damn impressed with their speed and assistance.
We went back to the other station and I was very relieved (and surprised!) to get anything back at all, not to mention so quickly. I figure the guy was on the train with me and got off at the next station, where he dropped the wallet and the police found it. Some jerk has some pocket money now, but at least he did me the favor of not keeping the cards and the ID!
After that adventure we went to our original plans and met Alessandra and crew at the Chornobyl Museum, where we had a guided tour. Man, did that make all the difference! The first time I visited the museum, with my parents in September, we didn’t have a guide and I realize now how much of the museum’s symbolism, not to mention just basic facts of history, we missed at the time. It was particularly interesting to revisit the museum now after I’ve learned so much about the Chornobyl accident and its effects at my job. Alessandra and I both felt like we’ve experienced too extreme descriptions of the event – the dramatic, emotionally-charged retelling and documentation of a national tragedy, in the museum, and a “it’s not as bad as all that” perspective from my colleagues at the Chornobyl Program.
In the evening we finally made it to “The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe.” I thought it was fantastic! It was really well done, very true to the book, and really beautiful to look at. It makes we want to read all the Chronicles again.
Joanna and Krystal arrive Friday afternoon from Chisinau. We’ve got a table booked for 12 of us Saturday night in a club near Independence Square. With the reservation, we get: 6 bottles each of champagne, vodka, wine, plus water and juices; tons of food and desserts; and a live band. The table is our’s for the night, so we can go out at midnight for the fireworks and get back inside the warm bar to party some more. It should be a very fun weekend!
Anka in Kyiv 