The land of my ancestors...maybe.

According to family history, my great-grandfather Piotr Basamanowicz lived in the village of Zolotyi Potik before moving to the United States in 1912. 

Once arriving safe and sound in the town of Chorkiv in western Ukraine, the Matsuiev family (my Ukrainian hosts) welcomed me with dinner and, of course, a shot of Ukrainian vodka to go with the meal. I'll probably repeat this several times, but my host family for this trip was amazing. They showed me such warm hospitality, and did so many kind things for me to not only help my ancestry search but also make me comfortable staying with them in their house. I'll always remember my time with them in Ukraine!

So the next morning I woke up and went on my first run of my trip, just around the town of Chortkiv (population ~30,000). My main goal was to avoid getting lost and just get my bearings in town. I noticed while running that the streets are much wider than what I'm used to in Macedonia. It was quite liberating. I never felt like I was sharing the road with traffic and thus I didn't feel like I was cheating death like I sometimes do in Macedonia. I also received less stares- perhaps people actually run in Ukraine? Or maybe they just respect the fact that you 'do sport' instead of look at you like you're crazy? Hmm.

Around 9am the family picked me up and we drove to the city of Buchach, roughly 25km from Chortkiv. Buchach is the seat of the regional raion, basically the equivalent of a municipality, and there we expected to find records relating to the village of Zolotyi Potik. Buchach was once a majority Polish town with a large Jewish population, but both were largely wiped out due to the war and Stalin's 'depolonization' ethnic cleansing afterwards. Yet despite a vastly different ethnic composition in the town today, many of the records from long before WWII still reside in the raion's archives. To our luck, they still had the 'Church book' of records dating back to 1893, so for about a half-hour I stood by while Tanya (my host mother) looked through the book with a worker from the archives office. We tried every possible name I had with me, starting with my great-grandfather but also including his siblings and first wife. Unfortunately, none of the names were found in the book. Given the information I had to start with, and fact that I only knew that my great-grandfather lived in the village but probably was not born there, I probably shouldn't have been surprised. But it was still disappointing. I really had held out hope that I would at least find something about my great-grandfather's sister Anna who apparently stayed behind in Galicia while the rest of the siblings left for America. Before we left, the archives worker gave me an address in Warsaw for another archives office where it is possible that more information about my ancestors is located. She mentioned that many records were transferred to Poland after the war, so at least I came away with something tangible.

Buchach town

With little more to do in Buchach, we next drove south to the village of Zolotyi Potik ('Golden Stream'), which was apparently the last known residence of my great-grandfather before he left Europe for America. A nice thing about some villages is that it is easier to imagine life 100 years ago, since old houses and shops haven't been replaced by mega malls and skyscrapers. Sure, there aren't horse-drawn carriages and dirt roads (just paved roads with insane numbers of potholes), but you also know that not much has really changed. Once we made it to the village, we started walking around and Tanya asked an elderly shop owner if she was familiar with my family name. We tried a few other places before getting directed to check out the local church, and there we met the caretaker who was at least 80 and definitely seemed like a village historian (or aren't most old people in villages de facto historians?).

the Catholic Church in Zolotyi Potik

Had trouble with Ukrainian translation, but I believe the church is in the name of the Virgin Mary and Saint Dominic. It was built in the early 17th Century and supported by the Potocki family, one of the most prominent Polish noble families of the time. 

Quite a cool discovery inside the church. This is an original sculpture by Johann Pinzel, the most famous Ukrainian sculptor and commonly referred to as Ukraine's 'Michelangelo'

The caretaker showed us a copy of some old photos (in Polish) showing the church before it was destroyed after the war. 

This one was in 1937. 

We learned the church had a history as old as the village itself, and its current facade dated back to sometime after WWII. It's notable that the Potocki family was instrumental in the church construction, because they also built the other significant landmark in Zolotyi Potik, the zamok (castle).

Our caretaker/historian led us out of the church and down a short hill until we came upon the ruins of what was once a decent-sized castle also dating back to the 17th Century. Aside from a small sign above the main gate, there is nothing else to indicate the significance of the ruins. We did see several goats munching away at grass nearby, so I guess that's something.

Placard near the gate about the castle and a brief history. 

From what I remember, this was used to store food in the winter. Either that or it was used for a prison.

Goat is smiling for the camera. 

The remnants of a Lenin statue. Someone must have gotten the head a long time ago. 

Our caretaker friend certainly enjoyed talking and clearly knew a lot about the castle. One thing I did recognize was that if my great-grandfather lived in this village as an adolescent, he certainly must have spent some time around the castle due to its big open area and countless hiding places within the ruins. With that and the visit to the church, it's still a connection, and the closest thing I would get to understanding where my family came from and why my name is the way it is (though I still don't have a clear answer why my last name is not Basamanowicz today). Sure, I came in with the optimistic notion that I would uncover something new or significant about my family that no one ever knew. Maybe watching Everything is Illuminated wasn't the best choice before I left, but I couldn't help it. In reality, most things don't work out that way. History is too complicated and convoluted. Perhaps something will come up as the years go by, but for now, the book is unfortunately still closed.

Yet fortunately for me, I sort of expected that I would not find anything, so the rest of my trip I would spend visiting some beautiful cities in Ukraine and Poland. First of all, I had some time left in Chortkiv, so I enjoyed some delicious shashlik (like shish kebab) with the family later that day, and then on my last full day Ira (the friend of a Peace Corps volunteer who helped me out from the start of my planning for this trip) took me on a tour of Chortkiv. Despite being a small city, it had some beautiful architecture, a large Gothic-style cathedral, and an Orthodox church with impressive frescoes.

Chortkiv main square

Placard outside the cathedral

Main orthodox church in town

We stumbled upon a Ukrainian wedding in progress...

Before I left Chortkiv, I had the chance to help make homemade pelmeni with the family. Pelmeni are small dumplings usually filled with some kind of meat/potato combination, and absolutely essential when you live alone because they freeze well and you can heat them up quick (I ate them often in Kazakhstan). But the homemade variety is definitely best, and these did not disappoint. Yum.

Good for breakfast too!

A coffee can dating back to before the fall of Communism. So cool!

A book by Stalin. I'm sure it's a fun read. 

The next morning the family took me to the bus station and I bought my ticket to the city of L'viv and embarked on the next leg of my journey. Many awful potholed roads awaited me and my cramped bus (we have it good in Macedonia as far as buses and roads). There is a Ukrainian joke that you know if someone is drunk driving if they drive in a straight line on the roads. It's no joke. The rural roads are some of the worst I've ever seen. Before I hopped on the bus I thanked everyone and I was given a small gift, a decorative bottle (which later in my trip I think caused me a freak injury, but that's another story)  for holding a honey liquor called медовуха, and we snapped a few photos. With that, I was off to L'viv, which I would find to be one of the most beautiful cities in Eastern Europe.