From Istanbul to L’viv

Words cannot express the intensity of my feelings as I climbed into the van transporting us to Sabiha Gökçen (SAW)–an airport further south than the one we arrived in.  The silent two hour drive through traffic to cross the Bosphorus bridge and head towards the Syrian border gave plenty of time to reflect upon the past few days.  As an American Christian woman I’m free to leave this land while less fortunate female citizens of these middle eastern countries remain behind–chained to the laws of their land and the men they belonged to.  Do they truly know the differences between us?  I’m ashamed of how little I really knew of their lives before my visit.  Photos or videos are merely shadows of what I witnessed.  I asked God to open my eyes and lead the way.  He did.  Now I know and understand a little more.  But for what purpose?

Every few blocks a mosque protruded its towers into the sky–lest anyone forget, Islam is everywhere.   Other than these religious buildings, the southern countryside appeared arid and desolate.  Most people (apart from tourists or citizens of other countries) wore traditional muslim garb.

My final memory here occurred in the terminal while watching the interactions between a father and young boy.  I watched the man awkwardly push himself along on his son’s scooter while the boy ran silently behind, trying to keep up.

This scene revealed far more than just reading about cultural differences.  Examples like this are everywhere once one becomes aware of them.

I prayed, “God protect the innocent and defend the weak as only You can.”

Pegasus, a basic Turkish airline, provides flights with very little legroom, minimal food/beverage options, and sparse luggage space but since it offered the only nonstop flights to L’viv, Ukraine it was the preferred method of travel.  I breathed a sigh of relief as the wheels of the plane touched down in L’viv, Ukraine.  Relieved to be out of Turkey, and even happier to land near the small town of Berezhny where my great grandparents once lived, I can barely contain my joy.

We stepped off the plane into a very new, sophisticated and modern terminal.  Apparently the city hosted the International 2012 Euro Football games providing money for expansion of the airport.  So, after a simple streamlined process through customs (and the usual riffling through our bags due to carrying lots of electronics) we finally exited the terminal.

Thank you God!  A friendly hotel driver welcomed us the best he could without knowing much English.  We didn’t speak Ukrainian so the short drive was quiet.  Autumn arrived.  Large trees with yellowing leaves and people wearing sweaters and coats.  I thought I “fit in” but apparently not quite.  Though I dressed conservatively I still wore a little makeup–lipstick, eyeshadow and mascara–while women here did not.  As we neared the downtown area of the hotel some women wore current fashions but few wore much make-up or even lipstick.   No need to cover and hide their faces, yet money was carefully spent on necessities in life.   Seeing so many public buses pass by I realized this was a working town with very few private cars and even fewer SUVs or luxury vehicles.

Not as old as Istanbul, L’viv was still a relatively old historical city in Eastern Europe.  And, though the boutique hotel was similar in size to that in Istanbul, nothing else was remotely the same.  Remodeled less than a year ago, this beautiful hotel was updated in my favorite style–Art Deco style with modern and luxurious furnishings.

The friendly and helpful staff showed kindness and interest while listening to my eager laments about finding answers to my family tree.  Apparently I’m not the only one hoping to do so over the past few years.  They arranged for an English speaking driver to assist in my journey and all wished me great success.   Asking what I’d hoped to accomplish if I did find ancestors here I wasn’t sure how to reply.  I had much to discover before I could answer.

I recognized my family’s style of food—borscht on every menu.  Pierogis were called “verenicky” and not similar to what I ate growing up or made myself as an adult.  In a few days I could finally remove the cast and eat with my right hand.  I was so ready to try all the foods, deserts and drinks on the Ukrainian menus.

For now, I relaxed and focused my attention on learning all I could from the Ukrainian people around me; and allowing Jesus to once again direct my path.