The Return to Czernovitz

Before reading the account of this trip, it should be kept in mind that a lot of what we considered dirt, neglect, decay, was the result of major repair work on roads and bldgs. Many rickety looking bldgs made to look even more so by the scaffoldings around them, was the work necessary for the admittance of the Ukraina into the E.U. Parts of the city had been kept intact, i.e. the University which used to be the Archbishop's residence (laudable change), surrounded by its well kept garden, added to its aura. There were other well-kept Biedermeyer buildings, looking out of place, they seemed to want to be in a museum. We walked or were driven, through many parts of the city, but only in the old city, the former ghetto, jewish quarter, we found the vestige of the city's soul. There, I felt, a book or a man might still exist.

And, actually it did! The order came from our guide: "This afternoon you are going to meet an artist. Don't be late, he is waiting." There is this curiosity -- an artist, being offered us we better hurry! And so he was, an artist living in his atelier -- both man and book were there. Neglect, creaking boards, somewhat risky stairs, no one paid the slightest attention: we were asking and answering questions, we had found a soul who perhaps is the seed for a new beginning. The artist, Oleg Liubkivsky, aside from being a good painter, graphic artist, and sculptor, talks well with pleasure, and listens to your answers. So, offering us wine and humour, we were suddenly in our Czernovits -- we came in the back way, through a tiny opening. We visited him twice and would have liked to do so more often, perhaps finding the entire road back to our Czernovits.

Our guide had another surprise in store for us: this time we were ordered to be ready to be ready for a visit to the Rabbi! God, what has thee concocted for us? But, on we went, through an antichamber full of eager women we entered his reception, where he greeted me in yiddish, asking whether I still spoke "mamelooshen", and I truthfully answered "a little", a little says he is enough and gave me his blessin; Fran moved up her hand ready to be blessed, but as she did so the Rabbi hid his hand behind his back --was she not kosher? We giggled about it, particularly after she showed me the photo she had taken with her hidden camera -- Bravo!

Another walk through the city and we were off to Berhomet. Czernovitz was behind us and we were taken to Berhomet, (or should I say "My Berhomet"), slightly tense at what might await me there. What awaited me was a disaster: Berhomet, my goal, existed no more. The whole village had been razed to the ground, houses had been built a few meters off their original site (hints of a Ceausescu move) and our driver, who was a native of the village, informed me that though he could not find anyone of my age to talk to me, he had found the spot where "The Buche" (The name of the house) where it had been: by measuring the distance from here to there to nowhere, he found a set of steps which led down to what might have been the ice cellar.

Of course a house of recent construction was now on the site, housing a restaurant and souvenir shop. "Oh, goody, goody," think I, "let's go buy souvenirs". Wrong guess; no matter which item we pointed to, the answer was "Not of Sale". What is more unique than a souvenir shop that does not sell its souvenirs? How more surrealist can you get? We left, and came back the next day; this time it was evidently closed - discussions not necessary. But, there were two young waitresses chatting in a corner and when one of them saw me, she turned to her companion and whispered: "You see her? she owns all of this, if she wants to she could have us thrown out in no time." My knowledge of ukrainian made a fast comback. I thought surely, they would not resist my most charming smile, and I casually started walking towards them. A mistake! If you are trying to smile charmingly , it is hard to move fast. So, while I was trying to act in a nonchalant manner, they had acted decisively and had disappeared!

Notwithstaning all of this, I must say Berhomet still felt a bit like home, everyone (aside from the waitresses) whom we came accross, was friendly and open and had their own smile to proffer. So, we left Berhomet and went to visit the old handpainted churches and monasteries -- they were outstanding, more than worth the trip. There was a giftshop there too, and this one sold its goods and I bought! Back to Czernovitz where out hotel was waiting for us. It was simply sumptuous, quite out of our class; it was a suit of 2 rooms, a living room, an ultra up to date bathroom with a shower I would be proud to have (or rent)-- somehow it did not go with the rest of the landscape. We had eaten at the restaurant next door, owned by the same owner as the hotel, decided we liked it and were fascinated by the clientele: mostly young and strangely assorted: 1 men with 2 females, 1 female with 2 men, and so on. When we came back to our rooms, we heard them come up the stairs; apparently we were going to be neighbours. And from the noises coming accross, it was clear that they were not playing scrabble.

The next surprise was the following day when we came back to our rooms and found the table decked in flowers, fruit, a huge box of chocolate, a bottle of wine with a label in cyrillic script offering the folowing info: "a flat red ordinary table wine", so we decided to take it to Paris. By the way, our breakfast was delivered after dinner hour to our suite and stored in the small refrigerator. When I asked why we could not just go down to the restaurant in the morning, we were told "we work until 4 a.m. and don't open till noon." Anybody care to guess? The last surprise was a rather large stuffed animal sitting next to the table, looking more like a lion than a dog, and what was I supposed to do, like down next to it in a peaceful gesture? How was I going to transport it way back home? It was well over 1 foot tall and I certainly could not refuse it. However, salvation was on its way: The driver who was to take us to the airport said he had to children who would love the present. May they be blessed forever.

The road back to Suceava and airport was winding through the Carpathians and had we had more time, I would have liked to have stopped and inhale their beauty. And from Suceava, the plane took us back to Paris and I think we felt the time was right. I hope my friends will forgive this no exactly orthodox approach to my past, but I came to terms with it and thing it was the right thing to do.