Something Smells

The heat is here, and it's driving me nauseous and lethargic. You know how I said, back when I was first taking about Peace Corps, that I didn't want to go to a hot country? That I don't really like the heat, and that Eastern Europe appeals in part because it's not...say...Africa? Since I got to Crimea I've been wondering how hot it really gets here. I can't really trust the locals. First of all, when they give me numbers they're always in Centigrade, not Fahrenheit. I haven't figured Centigrade out yet. Plus everyone gives a different answer anyway--no one really knows, I don't think. Then there's the whole exaggeration thing. Sure, it gets hot. But how hot? Ukrainians probably think 80 degrees (Fahrenheit) is sweltering. What can they really know about heat? I've lived in Hawaii. And most of you reading this probably remember a few years ago, during California's rolling blackouts, when it was so hot the train tracks warped. Now that's hot. Nah, I thought. It'll be hot here, but not THAT hot.

Then, about two weeks ago, the weather turned and I started to worry. Don't ask me what the temperature is, but I'm sweating a bunch. (Not any fun when you're having water issues AND hand-washing your clothes.) One woman I know tells me she loves it in July and August because it's hotter than this. "So hot you can't breathe." I might have chalked that up to exaggeration two weeks ago, but now? Hotter than this? This is plenty hot enough as far as I'm concerned.

A friend of mine, who arrived in Ukraine the year before me, says that last year it wasn't too hot. But then, she also says last year at the end of May she could still wear a light fleece and be comfortable. This year I'm desperately wishing I had more than one tank top, and at least one more short skirt--although by the time I get to the market I'm too hot to want to shop for new clothes. No, this is much hotter than it was last year.

I met a few friends in Simferopol on Saturday, and decided to wear my one tank top. This was really the first time I'd worn it outside, since it's not really school-appropriate. I almost wore my one short skirt, too, but decided I'm too white to show off both my pasty legs and my chalky shoulders. The old babushka (grandmother) who lives in my building and sits outside my entryway lectured me on my lack of color and told me I need to walk more in the mornings and evenings. And go sunbathing, of course. Ukrainians are big on sunbathing.

Well, I thought, I'll wear my tank top while we're walking around Simferopol, and after an hour I'll put on sunscreen. That'll get me a little pink, but nothing painful.

You all know where this is going, right?

I forgot the sunscreen.

I should note here that Ukrainians don't believe in sunscreen. The only reason I have any is because Peace Corps gave us some in our medical kits. You can't buy sunscreen in most stores here--it's more like a specialty, or even a luxury, item. So it's not like I could stop by any produkti (little store) or magazine (also a little store) in Simferopol and buy myself some sunscreen. So instead I just tied to stay in the shade or indoors as much as possible.

Didn't really work, although of course my sunburn could be much worse. I've had worse burns in my life. In fact, this one probably doesn't even make the top five. (Though possibly it's in the top ten.) But I'll definitely be peeling next week. Definitely. Only on my shoulders, though--my face is already so tan that it didn't get burnt. At least, not so I can feel it.

The heat has intensified the "aromatic" atmosphere of Crimea. A while back I went on a picnic, up the coast from Chernomorskoe, where the steppe meets the sea. Walking through the green grasses on the steppe, crushing them under our feet...it was a wonderful smell, so fresh and spicy. It could be the most wonderful thing I've ever smelled. That was the beginning.

Walking to school I smell a sweet, damp, musky scent, almost like fruit decaying. It's the soil, I think. The fruit is not ripe yet, much less decaying. Trees heavy with flowers and bees scent the air as I pass them. An intermittent breeze from the sea brings that salty fresh smell of water and seaweed, sand and sun.

And then there's the spicy, unpleasant smell of sweaty people. No one in Ukraine bathes the way Americans do. A shower every day? Not likely. Every other day? Remote possibility. And clothes are worn (and sweated in) multiple times before they are washed. So almost everyone smells, and not in a good way. And it's only going to get worse as the summer gets hotter, and more tourists descend on Crimea. Busses will be over-crowded and stuffy, with not nearly enough windows open (Ukrainians believe drafts make you sick), and unwashed, smelly people everywhere.

And, sadly, I'll probably be one of those people.

The problem is with clothing--I have only a limited amount. And Only a limited amount of time to do laundry. It's not like in America, where you can drop a dirty outfit in the wash as soon as you get home, make dinner while the wash swirls everything clean, then throw it in the drier while you eat. No, doing laundry by hand means filling up a tub and soaking the clothes for an hour or so, then scrubbing them (and why don't Ukrainians have washboards?), then rinsing them, then wringing them, then hanging them to dry on the balcony. It takes me a good half a day to wash one or two "loads," and then I have to wait for the clothes to dry.

And since I don't have much summer clothing, I always run out of "clean" things before I have time to wash the dirty. Especially since, unlike in winter, a shirt gets all sweaty and gross after I wear it just once.

I hate knowing that I smell. I hate smelling myself! And most of all I hate that I can do nothing about it.

This week I'm going to permit myself to buy two new sleeveless tops and a skirt of pair of shorts at the bazaar. I'm hoping if I go in the morning on a weekday there won't be too many people. Crowds make me claustrophobic. Wish me luck!