Abolishing the Police in Georgia and Ukraine

"Defund the police" means "take away some funding so police can focus on effective policing, instead of kittens in trees, health emergencies, mental health crises, misbehaving children, jaywalking, speeding, and black people grilling in parks/getting locked out of their homes/jogging/birdwatching/existing.” But what about those countries that actually did get rid of their police?

I have a real soft spot for Georgia and Ukraine, two countries with great people and centuries of awful leadership (although Ukraine's latest guy is surprisingly adept), coupled with the misfortune to be next to Russia (20% of Georgia and 7% of Ukraine are occupied by Russian-supported forces). Georgia is also exceptionally beautiful, with amazing food. And both booted much of their police following revolutions triggered in part by police brutality.

After Georgia's Rose Revolution in 2003, the new leader, Saakashvili, fired many police. Nobody really knows how many police were fired, since that number wasn't tracked, but I've heard anywhere from 1/3 to 80-90% to 85%, from "mostly traffic police" to "all police." At the time, you basically bought your way into the traffic police, then had to finance everything yourself, from your car to your uniform, but had a license to shake people down.

“A senior police official recalled that until the end of Shevardnadze’s presidency in 2003, ‘you could not drive 10 kilometres without at least a few traffic policemen stopping your car and asking for a couple of dollars bribe’.”

Newly elected Mikheil Saakashvilli fired a bunch of police, set up a much smaller force, modernized it, gave it new uniforms, regulations, equipment (at one point, the cars only said "police" in English). He literally made the police more transparent by building police stations with giant glass walls, even in remote villages. Georgia went from one of the world's most corrupt countries, to the upper quartile (44th least corrupt country out of 180 according to Transparency International (under Trump, the US has gone from 16th in 2016 to 23rd)). The official crime rate shot up, since previously people didn't report anything to the police. The prison population also skyrocketed, reaching US levels, though it has since fallen to 40% of its post-reform zenith, reaching a level on par with South Africa and Taiwan. Saakashvili became corrupt himself, lost an election, became a governor in Ukraine, was ejected, lost Ukrainian and Georgian citizenship, snuck back into Ukraine, then became a citizen there again.

Speaking of Ukraine, it had its own revolution in 2013-4, sparked by Russia-related corruption and an overly strong response by police (protests led to gendarmes firing into crowds led to the president fleeing to Russia--the palace he squandered the country's money on is now a major tourist attraction). Naturally, police reforms were a high priority. The "Internal Troops" (gendarmes) who had fired on protestors were dissolved (the branch of the special riot police who did much of the killing who were stationed in Crimea straight-up defected to the Russian government), and some were later caught fighting alongside Russian-supported rebels.

I visited Ukraine in 2015, and saw the new "Police" (as opposed to the Soviet-founded "Militia,") a month after they were introduced. My friends said they didn't trust or speak with the Militia, but the Police were US trained and funded, earned three times what the Militia had, and were idealistic young college grads who wore American-style uniforms, spoke English, and drove Priuses. The catch was that, even if they were fair and trustworthy, the rest of the penal system was corrupt. When I returned in 2018, my friends weren't so excited about the Police anymore, as former members of the Militia had joined it. Anyway, I still have hope--Ukraine and Georgia aren't joining the EU anytime soon, but they fly more EU flags than anywhere else. After years of cynicism, they had largely peaceful revolutions (save for, yes, police brutality) that resulted in police reforms, if nothing else. These cases show that there have to be ways to make sure corrupt cops don't reenlist, and that the entire judicial system must be reformed, since if the courts/prisons are still corrupt/brutal, the system remains broken. Still, if Ukraine and Georgia managed radical changes, why can't we?

John, John, and Jesus

“And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” Matthew 6:5-6 (NIV)

“Hail Satan!
Hail Satan tonight!
Hail Satan!
Hail, hail!” -“The Best Ever Death Metal Band out of Denton,” The Mountain Goats

One reason I find The Mountain Goats so beautiful is because it is so truly, quietly, Christian.

The Mountain Goats has been a misnomer from the start, as the band has generally been, until recently, the work of one musician, John Darnielle. But while the image of Darnielle standing on stage, introducing himself as The Mountain Goats, is no longer accurate, and his songs have become increasingly less low-fi, and more advanced, his subject matter has remained the same: society’s outcasts and subcultures. Addicted to hard drugs as a young man, Darnielle moved beyond his chemical addictions, but not beyond the sense of camaraderie for people who might steal from you when you’re asleep, but would stand up for you when needed. This feeling is clear in Darnielle’s many songs about immigrants, drug addicts, the lonely, and drug addicts, again, especially in the album “Transcendental Youth.”

I’m drawn to Darnielle’s music because of his consistent sympathy for the downtrodden. Darnielle's subject choice was probably affected by his time as a drug addict, and as an employee in psychiatric hospitals and rehabilitation clinics. This sympathy is clear in “San Bernardino,” in which a young unmarried couple gives birth in a motel bathtub, or as Darnielle describes them for eMusic, "people who others talk down to: young mothers and fathers who have no prospects, no money, nothing going on." The couple is in trouble, but their love for each other and sheer optimism give the song a hopeful ending, even if, as Darnielle notes, “the world isn’t giving them its best yet.”

Yes, Darnielle’s songs reference demons, witchcraft, and Judas, to the point where the official fan podcast (which he co-hosts alongside Joseph Fink, the creator of Welcome to Night Vale) ends its episodes with “Hail Satan.” And yes, Darnielle may sing "Unfurl the black velvet altar cloth. Draw a white chalk Baphomet" in “Cry for Judas,” but such lyrics show the frustration of youth dealing with inner demons. These references are fitting, as Darnielle characteristically drifts towards those at the emotional nadir of their lives, as they lash out, give in, or find hope. Even when referencing Satan itself, Darnielle describes it in interviews and concerts as the temptation that we often give into (or once as akin to Milton’s Satan in Paradise Lost). As Darniele explains in an introduction to "In Memory of Satan," "This is the thing I'm always trying to point out...the devil I'm talking about is not the devil you actually like, it's not the devil of whisky and smokes or whatever. It's the devil who stands between you and the things you hoped to become." As Darnielle explains in a piece for eMusic, "I try not to excuse the destructive things adolescents sometimes do to express their pain, but in my gut, when I write a song in which a couple of teenagers vow to take revenge on the grownups who're fucking up their lives, well, I cast my lot with the teenagers. They may do wrong sometimes, but their hearts aren't rotten yet, and the light is strong within them.” Darnielle’s characters and lyrics may praise demons and Satan, as Darnielle takes gives voice to people whose lives are full of struggle, but while we’re meant to feel sympathy for humans, there is no sympathy for the true Devil.

In an interview with The Observer, Darnielle admits, “I’m a Christian, I believe in the radical egalitarian message of Christ Ministry,” before laughing. Later in the same interview, Darnielle’s focus becomes abundantly clear: “The underlying issues in all that I do are issues of compassion.” Perhaps I shouldn’t pretend Darnielle’s Christianity is hidden. The Mountain Goats' twelfth studio album, "The Life of the World to Come," is clearly Christian. Not only is each track named after a Bible verse, but the title itself comes from the Nicene Creed. Satan, Baphomet, black veils on crosses, are just disguises for a level of compassion that can still seem radical after 2,000 years.

Some of the songs I find the most beautiful are about taking in people in need, even if you yourself are struggling. A prime example is “The Color in Your Cheeks.” Here, people from Taipei to Mexicali, “from Zimbabwe, or from Soviet Georgia, East Saint Louis, or from Paris, or…across the street” are welcomed to a home. The plural narrators aren’t doing so well, and there are hints of meth addiction: as the chorus states “we haven’t slept for weeks.” And yet, “we gave him what we had…it was the least we could do to make our welcome clear.” The point is again made clear in the refrain: “drink some of this, this’ll put the color in your cheeks.” In his fan podcast, Darnielle notes that, while the people in the song may not be the best people, they can still help when needed: “This is something I would find among doper friends. They would rob you and each other, but there’s also an extent of protection, there’s a clannishness that can feel real safe in an unsafe time...they will rob me if I fall asleep, but they would protect me in a time of trouble.”

In discussing “The Best Ever Death Metal Band out of Denton” on his podcast, Darnielle explains, “You don’t need the Bible to know that excluding a bunch of people because of who they are for the same opportunity everybody else had, this is not a Biblical question…for sure, if you believe the basic precepts of the guy who got nailed to a tree, number one is, you don’t deny anybody a seat at the table. That’s the central teaching of the whole deal, is that everybody’s invited.” This episode was recorded shortly after Trump was elected, so the contrast between Trump’s comically performative Christianity, and Christ’s precepts, was hard to miss, especially for the podcast hosts.

One of Darnielle’s best, and most sympathetic songs, is about a real man, Manuel “Bull” Ramos. A villain in the televised wrestling matches Darnielle consumed as a child, Ramos is depicted as a christlike figure. Echoing the theme of sanctuary in "Color in Your Cheeks," Ramos sings that "any of my old friends who have no place to turn to, they know to call me any time they come through." Even as Ramos loses a leg, kidney, and his sight to diabetes complications, he remains proud, and the song as upbeat as Ramos' mood. The song ends with Ramos’ death and resurrection, his legacy secure: "Never die, never die...rise, rise, surrounded by friends."

I find echoes of Darnielle’s Christian empathy for his downtrodden characters in the music of John K. Samson, frontman for the Weakerthans, and earlier a member of Propaghandi. Samson shares Darnielle’s sense of geography, but while the latter’s songs focus on obscure towns across the US, Samson’s lyrics are firmly anchored in his hometown of Winnipeg, although his characters occasionally make it as far as western Ontario.

In an increasingly downtempo and moving tetralogy spread out across 13 years and four albums, Samson sings about the relationship between a depressed alcoholic (commonly seen as a surrogate for Samson himself) and his cat, Virtute. This being Samson, the cat’s name comes from Winnipeg’s motto: “Unum Cum Virtute Multorum” (“One with the Strength of Many.”) Part I, “Plea From a Cat Named Virtute,” is energetic and in major key, and would work as a catchy rock anthem if not for its lyrics. The feline singer addresses its owner, who is in the midst of a depressed slump. Between hammer-ons, Virtute nudges its owner towards recovery, recommending they throw a party, and threatening to taste its owner’s “tinny blood” if ignored. The song ends with the reminder, “I know you’re strong.”

By Part II, “Virtute the Cat Explains Her Departure,” these pleas have indeed been ignored. A downtempo piece, the singer’s voice wanders, like its subject. Having lost its owner figuratively, Virtute has run away, even if it doesn’t fully understand why, and lost its owner physically as well. Ignored its owner’s attempts to find it, it has retreated into the unhappy life of a stray. Forgetting its name, “The sound that you found for me,” it’s gotten into fights with the neighboring tabby that it was friendly with in Part I, and lost the tips of its ears to frostbite. Although its memory is fading after at least a year, it still misses its owner and its loving, pre-depression life.

Virtute’s disappearance is clearly permanent by Part III, “17th Street Treatment Center.” Perhaps this song doesn’t match, and I should be writing about a Virtute Trilogy, but the narrative shifts here to the owner, being treated for alcoholism in a rehab clinic. Here, with its varied cast of addicts and camaraderie, we could easily have a Darniele song, albeit an unusually slow one. By this album, Samson has become a solo performer, having left The Weakerthans, even if he continued to play and record with its members. Virtute does make a meta appearance in a song the narrator sings “about the spring the cat ran away.” Joined by “the punk and the priest and the real estate agent, the girl with no teeth and the shaky Marine, the Serbian Deadhead who wears his sunglasses,” the narrator is finally in a hopeful Purgatory. The song begins cautiously optimistic, “On the twenty-first day, the sun didn’t hate me, the food wasn’t angry, the bed didn’t sigh. The ceiling said it’s possible I might get my looks back.” While the narrator may not normally have met, much less had anything in common with his fellow patients, their situation unites them: “In for three weeks or in for forever, here at the 17th Street Treatment Center. Most of us probably not getting better, but not getting better together.”

Trilogy or tetralogy, Virtute’s saga ends with “Virtute at Rest.” Here, the narrators are joined together: Virtute, presumably dead, remains “in the back of your brain where the memories flicker,” a source of love, wisdom, and strength. Virtute remains a cat, “paw[ing] at the synapses, bright bits of string.” This is Samson’s slowest, and most moving piece, lines and words delivered slowly, sometimes doled out in isolation. The effect is austere and sparse, each word given full meaning. Here, Virtute could also be a past love that Samson has moved on from: The Weakerthans. Perhaps Samson is telling his fanbase that it’s time to move on. Certainly the tetralogy matches Samson’s transformation from punk bassist to indie rock frontman to solo singer-songwriter. Yet, at a surface level, this song remains moving: “You should know that I am with you, know I forgive you, know I am proud of the steps that you’ve made. Know it will never be easy or simple, know I will dig in my claws when you stray. So let us rest here like we used to, in a line of late afternoon sun. Let it rest, all you can’t change. Let it rest and be done.”

Okay, we’ve been off topic for four somewhat long paragraphs. We’ve seen empathy and love, but it’s familial, not purely Christ-like, save perhaps for the rehab clinic number. The Pharisees presumably loved each other, as did the Romans, even those who doled out names like Prima, Secunda, Tertita, and Quartia (although, to be fair, these poor children may have been named for their birth months instead of order of birth).

Samson’s sense of empathy can be more blunt, as in “Postdoc Blues,” which begins by soothing a postdoc whose “presentation went terrible, all wrong dongles, sweat stains, and stares.” The singer reminds the postdoc that he believes in their mission, that time is short, and reminds them of their motivation: “take that laminate out of your wallet and read it. And recommit yourself to the healing of the world, and to the welfare of all creatures upon it. Pursue a practice that will strengthen your heart.” This card, a rewording of Joanna Macy’s Buddhist “Active Hope,” is connected to the LEAP Manifesto (a call for First Nation rights and efforts to combat climate change in Canada, which has created a music video for this song). It is also a clear reference to Tikkun Olam, the modern Jewish concept of healing the world. Perhaps this is a clear sign of how religions dovetail. As Darnielle notes, “There not a theme I could not wrap Christianity around. [Emphasis writer's own] You could do that with any religion at all, Buddhism, Islam, Taoism. A religion’s whole job is to describe the world for you…and the people in it…to give you a light to understand the phenomena of the world.” Samson’s biography has been more mainstream than Darnielle’s, and yet he still writes sympathetically for lonely characters, as in the homesick sanatorium patient in “Letter in Icelandic from the Ninette San,” which is also referenced in “When I Write my Master’s Thesis,” which I wish I’d known about when I was writing my own Nordic history Master’s thesis.

Perhaps working Samson into this piece was a bit of a stretch. But this is a fan-piece, both are extraordinary lyricists, and I feel they deserve larger followings. Empathy and compassion is universal within religions (although this can vary--no religions go as far as Jainism), yet one of the central virtues I took to heart from my Catholic upbringing is sympathy for everyone, especially the outcast. I’m not necessarily very good at it, and can be as hypocritical as everyone else, despite my own lonely childhood. It can be painful to see Christianity wielded as a weapon by those who seem the least fit to lead its followers, but I can find solace in music, and as shown above, find some of its most beautiful aspects reflected between references to its showy supernatural antagonists.

Wisconsin Gothic

While the regional Gothic meme isn't so fresh anymore, I thought I would try my hand at Wisconsin Gothic:

You always visit the North Woods. Even when you tire and drive south, you end up in the North Woods. You get hired aboard a laker, but when you cross Lake Superior, you still find yourself in the North Woods

On a hill, there is a mill. Past the mill is a walk. On the walk is a key. Those few who use the key and return smell of yeast and speak of a museum that flaps its wings at noon.

The county highway names spell out a message as you drive towards Door County: G-O-H-O-M-E-F-I-B-S

Every supper club has a portrait of Vince Lombardi. His eyes follow you even when you’re in another room, facing the other way.

The cows are happy. The cows must always be kept happy.

You once felt apathy for the Packers, but then you were crowned with cheese. Now you never feel sympathy for the other teams. Now the cheese never comes off. Now you are always a cheesehead.

You drive to O'Sheridan Street with your friends and laugh as you drive towards the capitol and it seems to recede. You turn onto John Nolen Drive and cross the lake towards the isthmus, but the city only gets smaller and smaller. You turn around, but are met with flat, unmarked roads, for as far as you can drive.

We do not speak of Brett Favre. Or Joseph McCarthy.

Drawn by lights, you find yourself at a chautauqua. Inside, the cultists fervently chant, “Bob La Follette, fight for us!” Beneath their hoods, you recognize the aged members, whose names grave your local cemetery. Standing next one row over is your great-grandfather, who died at Belleau Wood.

Visitors gawk at and joke about the ice fishermen in winter. But when summer comes, the ice thaws, and the ice fishermen are still walking on the lake, even the Flatlanders know to stay silent.

The cheese curds squeak. You’ve noticed there are patterns in the squeaks, which sound like Morse Code. You know better than to listen. You deep fry the curds instead.

There is no point in driving. Every four-way intersection is haunted by the spirits of drivers who died while politely waving other drivers into the intersection.

You are told that there is a land to the northwest that is a mirror image of your own. The same people sit in the same homes, speaking with the same accent and eating the same casseroles. But they have horns, wear purple, and covet your lakes.

On May 17th, you eat fish soaked in an alkali until it is gelatinous, and reminisce about an “Old World.” You shudder as you think of this ancient land and its decadent cuisine, and wonder if the “fish” was a neighbor.

When winter comes and the ferry to Madeline Island stops running, the island itself disappears. The island comes back into existence when the ice road forms, but during warm winters, the island doesn’t reappear until March. Its students never leave school, forever trying to make up for lost time.

From the cliffs of Devil’s Island, you can see distant lights to the north, blinking. People are occasionally drawn to the lights and their promise of another land, but nobody returns.

In November, menfolk don bright orange, and commune in short wooden towers. If the spirits show favor, they return with giant bones, or are blessed with ginseng. Those who are cursed return empty-handed, chanting: "Waukesha, Waunakee, Waupaca, Waupun, Wausau, Wausaukee, Wautoma, Wauwatosa, Wauzeka, Milwaukee, Pewaukee!”

You hear coyotes howling in the distance, and step outside to look. There is silence. You step back inside. The howling returns, much louder.

Your town has a church and a bar, across the street. On Sunday, the church is full, the bar empty. For the rest of the week, the bar is full, and the church empty. There are no doors, and you have never seen anyone leave.

You used to come to Mount Horeb to look at the trolls, sitting in front of homes, the dentist office, shops. Now they come to stare at you.

Every winter, a derelict car is pushed to the center of the lake, and bets are taken on when it will fall through the ice. The winner has the honor of being fed to the muskie that lives below the surface.

You turn on the radio and hear Michael Feldman ask, “whad’ya know?" “Not much!” responds the audience. You change the channel. “Not much!” the announcer cries. You switch to a music station. “Not much!” yells Justin Vernon. “Not much!” chants the crowd gathering in front of your home.

One mile down and still descending, as your bathysphere’s walls whine and crumple, you have to admit that Devil’s Lake really is bottomless.

You wanted to be a badger, and came along, by the bright shining light of the moon. Now, as you struggle to grasp your meal of worms and pheasant eggs with your claws, and your family anxiously awaits your demise, you realize your mistake.

Twelve hours since you started, the House on the Rock’s Infinity Room is still shrinking, and still stretches before you.

There is a door of death, crowned with trees with red hanging down from them. Tourists come from the endless flatlands to the south to see it, and pay homage.

You hear whispered stories of the folk who dwell in the wooded hills beyond Iron County. These Youpers look human, but with their incomprehensible accent, fondness for double-letters, and knives and wooden steam chambers, are clearly something else.

Deep in the Driftless Area runs a river that never stops turning in on itself. Those who attempt to kayak it never reach the Mississippi, no matter how many coulees they paddle through.

The margarine is as white as death. You dare not consume it. The cows must remain happy.

“Spotted cow!” your roommate says. “Spotted cow!” your professor responds. “Spotted cow!” cry the whooping cranes flying above you. “Spotted cow!” your bank teller exclaims. “Spotted cow!” the police yell, weapons drawn.

The Charm of the Marshrutka Trip

Outside of the Baltic States, "marshrutkas" are a ubiquitous sight in the former Soviet Union, but I hadn’t spent much time in them until my most recent trip to Ukraine, where I took them daily. These minibuses are share taxis, like a larger, more crowded, dollar van, but with more tassels and rugs. They have set routes, but while the urban ones run every few minutes, they only depart their terminus (often a train/bus/subway station) when they are full. Some, especially the intercity ones, can be flagged down outside of their regular stops, and they often only stop on request, or if the driver sees waiting passengers. Soviet bureaucracy (and perhaps the Russian language itself) lends itself to portmanteaus, and the marshrutka is no exception, coming from the German “Marschroute” (“marching route”) and the universal “taxi,” revealing the marshrutka’s origins as a taxi with a set route.

In countries with poor public transport, marshrutkas bridge gaps. Arrive at a train station on the edge of town late at night? Well, there’s a marshrutka for that, and it costs 15 cents EUR. Have to get to the subway but the nearest station is 3km away? There’s a marshrutka for that (and it runs every 5 minutes or so). Have to get to the capital of an unrecognized country that has no airports and only one train per day in either direction to Ukraine? Of course there’s a marshrutka for that.

Marshrutka etiquette inspired me to write this post. Generally, as in Kyiv and Lviv, you pay as you board. In theory, you simply give cash to the driver when you board, who immediately hands you change (and occasionally a ticket). But the driver has a schedule to keep, almost never has a coworker/friend to make change, there are generally two entrances, and the poor minibuses can be utterly crowded. The larger trolleybuses owned by cities tend to have conductors, although on one bus, one saw but didn’t approach us, so we didn’t pay. I’ve seen European drivers make change and print tickets as the bus moves, but this process is generally partially automated—a machine prints or stamps a ticket, and he releases a few coins or bills with the help of levers. Thus, I was nervously impressed by the driver of the marshrutka I took from Kyiv’s airport as he simultaneously drove the bus and made change for me from the piles of bills scattered on the rug next to him. 

Ukraine can have a reputation as a rough place, but I was heartened to see that if you can’t board a marshrutka from the front and pay the driver, it’s the norm to pass money to the front, often clarifying if you need one ticket, or two. The marshrutka operates on the honor system, generally without even a ticket or other proof of payment, but while a ride was generally 5-8 hryvnia/UAH ($0.18-$0.28), I helped pass 10, 50, 100, and even 500 UAH bills forward, then the change and tickets back (although most marshrutkas didn’t bother with tickets). When we got to the subway, though, the sense of quiet camaraderie quickly disappeared with the first shove. 

On my last evening in Ukraine, I took a train back from the Carpathian Mountains, which was overcrowded with students going on hiking trips with other members of their departments (or visiting home). When we returned to Lviv, my friend and I boarded a night marshrutka that was so overcrowded that I was wedged in and unable to move one of my feet. I thought of the old Soviet joke, “how many people fit into a Rafika [Latvian van]? One more.” The contrast between the bright, warm interior, and the cold, dark streets prevented me from seeing much out of the window, and as the minutes wore on, I started to wonder if we’d found a ghost marshrutka, as we made no stops (I’m sure my friend was just feeling bored and hungry). It was a relief when the vehicle finally stopped, and we found ourselves just a block from where our hosts had a sizable dinner (from soup to figs to pelmeni dumplings) waiting for us.

Lviv’s streetcars functioned similarly, with the passengers slowly passing back change and a ticket to stamp, but I had been warned about Odessa’s take on marshrutka customs. Rather than paying after we boarded, we joined everyone else in paying only right before we disembarked, even though we had to figure out where we were and where we needed to get off with some buffer time if we wanted our change handed back to us. This ticket twist annoyed my travel partner who had come down from Lviv, and seemed infamous among Ukrainians. I wonder where the tradition came from?

For all its faults, I marvel at Berlin’s public transportation, whenever I return home from abroad. Yet while I enjoy sitting in silence by a window, I do miss watching people safely pass around stranger’s money, even without the threat of ticket inspections. When Berlin’s trains run smoothly and quietly, I believe the public transportation authority’s slogan “Because We Love You,” but the S-Bahn lacks the charm of the marshrutka trip (apologies to Stephen Merritt).

Lviv

Yesterday morning, I returned to Berlin from Lviv/Lwow/Lemburg/Leopolis, the hometown of great writers, poets, perhaps some of my ancestors, and the Jewish theorists who coined the terms "genocide" and "crime against humanity." My phone says I’ve walked 25km/day, Google 17.4. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle, and I spent most of them with Liana, my friend/penpal/guide/fixer.

I always enjoy my time in Ukraine, because I find the country so fascinating, in a way I don’t see elsewhere (perhaps I visited Armenia a few months early). Even now, four years after the revolution, the mark of recent events, and their ties to incidents (real and imagined) deep in the local history, culture, and psyche is made clear in monuments, street art, and even clothing, greetings, and hairstyles. It helps that most of the people I know there studied politics and history alongside me in Estonia, and are involved in shaping the country’s future, but even a casual tourist can't escape the signs. In Lviv’s airport, TVs showed footage of Crimea with the tagline, “Crimea: Still Ukraine,” and a PSA showed a family picnicking near a dam while a counterterrorism team, guns drawn, searched for saboteurs. Nearly everyone I spoke with (despite their ethnicity) grew up speaking Russian at home, and in adulthood made the switch to Ukrainian.

Back in Germany, it’s nice to recognize words immediately, instead of slowly deciphering each letter (through immersion, I managed to finally memorize the Ukrainian alphabet and finally make sense of Greek’s (I think I managed to figure out everything except the soft sign, and the differences between X, Ц, Ч, Ш, and Щ (ch, c, č, š, and šč)). Still, while it’s impossible to bike through Kreuzberg or Mitte most weekends without running into a demonstration, I’ll miss the feeling of potential I get from Ukraine, this being the place with the most wasted and untapped potential on the continent. Even if every stalled and failed reform leaves me feeling like Charlie Brown once more failing to kick Lucy’s football, I’m reminded of Ukraine’s guardedly optimistic anthem, which declares that “Ukraine has not yet died.”

Gory Gori

So, we went to Stalin's birthplace, Gori, this morning. It was on the way, but the experience was nothing like visiting the Lenin Museum in Tampere, Finland, endless Soviet kitsch aside. Gori was once known for its fortress, which still stands, although we only had time to snap a quick photo from below. The town is only 35 kilometers from Tskhinvali, the capital of the breakaway state of South Ossetia, the flashpoint that triggered Russia's invasion of Georgia 9 years ago. Gori was also on the way for the Russian army, which occupied the town for a time. Although the apartment buildings hit by rockets have been repaired, the town hosts the largest barracks complex I've seen, and neat rows of refugee housing run along the highway to Tbilisi, a mountain ridge on the distance marking the border with South Ossetia, a land of 50,000 people with serious passport problems.

Visiting the Stalin Museum was every bit as surreal as visiting a Hitler memorial. We could hear pops from a nearby military firing range. Stalin's humble childhood home (for the first 3 years of his life, at least) was covered by a memorial, behind which sat a grand building, and Stalin's personal train carriage. I fed a spritely stray dog some ham I'd kept from a hurried breakfast, and entered. The museum staff were friendly--we helped some carry tables down some stairs, and one called me "a gentleman" in English--but the museum unreal. We passed a group of Chinese men in suits receiving a tour, as well as countless photographs of Stalin showing how he served the proletariat, then moved into an area featuring gifts to Stalin and a bust of Roosevelt. Tellingly, many of the gifts were labelled "casket," but we were impressed by a portrait of Bucharest made from dried tobacco leaves, and another of Gori made from chaff! 

My good deed outside attracted more dogs. One came up, limping, a paw seemingly crushed, and another with an eye infection, then a second with another maimed paw, all sporting ear tags that at least showed that they had been registered, vaccinated, and spayed, but I still felt like Jesus in Matthew 15:30 (especially the Jesus Christ Superstar version). Instead of healing, all I could do was apologize to the dogs, and head to the train car. Stalin's toilet wasn't very impressive.

See Eesti for Senti (and the Rest of Europe too: A Cheapskate's Travel Guide)

Here's an unfinished guide I stopped working on shortly after I moved to Berlin. It's a bit outdated (I've traveled quite a bit since then), but rather than let perfect be the enemy of good, I'll publish what I had typed up as of early September 2015:

Overview

Although I am infamously tight-fisted with money, travel is the one luxury I'm willing to pay for, and with a small scholarship and paltry savings, I've been able to visit 15 countries in the last two years (plus 6 others over the rest of my life, a few asterisks such as Christinia and Uzupis, and a few places that I've passed within a few meters of, such as Kaliningrad and Slovakia). I've also visited all but one German federal state, and all but one Estonian county. With that bragging out of the way, most of this travel is thanks to the combination of good luck and sacrifice that allowed me to live in Europe long-term. However, I would not have been able to see quite as much without careful planning, stumbling across good habits, and lucky networking and coincidences. While luck is hard to harness, travel tips are not, and so I'd like to share mine with you---hopefully they'll allow you to see more, for less, and enjoy your time more as well. And who knows, maybe it will help our paths to cross someday!

How to Get There

Be creative when planning a trip. Study maps for places to visit near your pre-existing destinations, or on the way. It is often cheaper to cover more territory, especially if you spot a good deal on websites that scour the internet for ticket sales (this is my favorite for the Baltics, Scandinavia, and whatever Finland is). At this point, and every other point in your trip, remember to network! Try to think about people you've met and had a good time with who would be happy to meet up with you, or share tips. Over the last year, I've mostly just gone from friend to friend to friend of a friend to acquaintance---it's nice to have someone to hang out with when travelling solo. Facebook no longer allows you to search for people based on where they are currently living, but with some sleuthing, it's possible to find a similar list. Oh, and remember that, even if you're staying within the Schengen Area, you are still required to carry your passport with you. The chances that border police will stop your bus or board your train are low, if rising thanks to the current refugee crisis, but some bus lines won't allow you to board without a passport.

It's hard to feel the rush that you (hopefully) feel when a plane takes off, and if you're seeking to get to another biome as quickly as possible, they're certainly a good bet. If you want a good idea of the place you're travelling to, then taking off, flying through clouds, and landing in a near-identical airport isn't very effective, but Europe is fortunate in having many no-frills, low-cost airlines such as Wow, Air Baltic, and (infamously) Ryanair. Even if you don't book terribly early, you can often find deals in the 10-50 EUR range, just make sure you keep two things in mind:
1: these airlines make much of their money charging travelers who exceed luggage weight limits (although Wizz Air and Air Baltic have never bothered to weigh the medium-sized backpacks I usually travel with, everyone has horror stories of Ryanair charging high fees for bags a kilo or two over their weight limits.
2: These airlines often save immensely or even get tax credits by flying to small airports often distant from the city you're ostensibly flying to. Oslo's no-frills airports are so distant from the capital city that the train there costs more than flying to the airport from the other side of Europe and back! Berlin's no-frills airport is thankfully on the edge of the city limits, if on the exact opposite end of the city from its main airport, but what Wizz Air calls "Hamburg Lübeck Airport" is actually more than 50km from Hamburg, and what Ryanair calls "Düsseldorf-Weeze" is actually on the German-Dutch border, nearly 50km from Düsseldorf! (The airport was actually legally blocked from calling itself Düsseldorf-Weeze.
All that said, though, it pays to check tickets with services like Skyscanner.net and Azair.eu, which allows you to search for all cheap flights leaving a particular airport. I also like to search the Wikipedia pages for airports near a place I wish to visit, to look for flights there from airports near me, or which I will be passing near during a trip.

Trains are a classic means of travelling through Europe, though their cost-effectiveness varies on the country. In Ukraine and Russia, trains are pretty much the only decent means of long-distance travel, while in Latvia they are poor, slow, and relatively expensive. Trains are the way to go in Belgium, and often if you're going somewhere from Tallinn, but usually prohibitively expensive in Finland and Germany without luck or special passes, such as (in Germany) group, weekend, or tickets restricted to a specific federal state and neighboring foreign cities. Keep in mind that, in the Ruhrgebiet/Nordrhein-Westfalen, trains are reliably late due to suicides and sheer urban density, although trains are generally the most timely means of travel. Other useful notes:

• the German ICE (InterCity Express) high-speed trains are reminiscent of Star Trek in their futuristic elegance, down to swooshing doors. They travel twice as fast as regular trains, but cost twice as much. 
• Paying extra for a better class is never worthwhile---second-class gets you to the destination just as fast, in almost identical comfort. I'm not actually sure how first-class sections of Estonian trains are different from second-class. The only exception to this rule is in Ukraine and likely Russia, where paying a bit extra to get bumped up from third-class to second allows you to get in a compartment with three others, making your luggage more secure, even when you're unconscious (especially if you manage to book a bottom-bunk, but make sure that you have actually done so!)
• While airplanes dump you at the edge of city limits, or beyond, trains often take you to the very center of a city, especially in Germany. 
• Keep in mind that most trains don't stop at most stops, and even those that do often stop briefly, and don't have doors that automatically open (this is especially true of the German Regionalbahn lines). 

In many places, inter-city buses are the main means of getting around, especially in parts of Eastern Europe, such as the Baltics. There are also many dirt-cheap bus lines, which can sometimes be the only affordable means of regularly-scheduled transportation. If you're in Finland, seek out OnniBus, and if in Poland, check Polski Bus, both of which are owned by, and operate the same way, as Mega Bus in the US and Low Countries. Unlike many trains, inter-city buses quite often have wi-fi, while some cheap bus lines (such as Ecolines) feature full entertainment platforms with decent film libraries. Most bus lines accept tickets visible on smartphones, but check to see if you're expected to print out tickets. Do keep in mind, though, that Polski Bus can be quite cramped!

In many East European buses and minibuses that serve rural areas, you must either press a button to stop the bus well in advance, or speak with the bus drive before setting off. In the Baltics, at least, if you speak with the driver (who will rarely speak English), he will let you off almost anywhere. Remember that these buses, even if they travel for hours, rarely feature bathrooms, although if you're travelling with children, the bus driver will stop the bus for them to empty out their tiny little bladders!

I don't have much experience with car rental, although they're useful for especially remote places, or group trips to rural areas. Keep in mind that laws regarding driving licenses can vary widely between otherwise similar countries.

Carsharing, usually with twentysomethings, can often be the cheapest way to travel long distances. The popular German Mitfahrgelegenheit website is one of several that have been subsumed by blablacar.com, the leading such website, but there are also many Facebook groups that facilitate this means of travel. In Estonia, this is a slightly cheaper and faster means of getting between Tartu and Tallinn, but there are corresponding groups for every town and region. Blablacar offers reviews and reliably has a large number of drivers who you can contact, both long in advance, and last-minute. Keep in mind that not all drivers drive safely, and that you may spend some time waiting for tardy or absentee ride-mates. I've met some very interesting people this way, and wish I'd kept up with some of them. The usual caveat about getting in a car with strangers applies, but usually several other travelers will be joining you.

Living in Estonia and Finland for two years means taking lots of ferries, in addition to those I've taken between Germany and Denmark and the Czech Republic, but since ferry tips are related to individual ferries in my mind, I'll skip them here, so we can get to the most interesting and erratic form of transportation...

...hitchhiking! While it's possible to hitchhike boats and ferries (supposedly the ferry between Denmark and Iceland is pretty easy to board without a ticket, like its Estonian counterparts), I'll be talking about cars. Even if you're a regular, HitchWiki.org is an invaluable resource (it reliably has the best places to hitchhike from and tips for different countries and regions). I've covered more than 1,000km solo (thesis research in another city will do that), but travelling with a partner is preferable. Not only is it nice to have someone to chat with for those long empty periods, and for security, but as a guy, it's much easier to get picked up with a female partner (I've never gone with a male partner, and hopefully will never have to). If you have more than two people, it's best to split up, although I've managed to travel with two partners simultaneously before. Check the weather, figure out the best place to start (some people stand around gas stations and talk to people, I prefer standing near highway intersections), maybe take a sign and marker, and head out! I always travel with a foldable cardboard sign with my destination, or a place on the way written on it, but some people do fine without a sign (especially for long-distance travel), or prefer to use humorous messages to get people's attention and empathy. Try to smile, look people in the eye, and don't take it personally when car after car passes you by! Doldrums come, though, especially on Estonian islands, so have a backup plan in case you're falling behind and nobody's stopping for you, such as taking a rural bus or hoofing it to the nearest village. When a car does stop, get over the spike of joy, run over, confirm that the car is driving to a place you want to go and that its passengers seem harmless, then get in and make conversation with the others in the car. Make sure to keep your backpack close at hand, though, in case you need to bail. In my paltry two years of hitchhiking, I've only had two bad experiences: a man who wouldn't stop telling a female partner to smile, and two women with a young child who were so annoying that, after over two hours of walking with my thumb up, I was tempted to jump out at the next stop! I'm no expert, but the idea of a woman hitchhiking alone gives me pause, although I have female friends who have hitchhiked solo for long distances without problem.

How to Get Around (by Country)

The following is a list of the best ways to travel around select countries:

What to Take

Internet, clothing, maps, phone numbers, water bottle, money

Planning

CS, maps, backup plans, FB groups/events, network, 5 words, changing money,

Upon Arrival

Orientation! CS, maps, Tourist Information, free tours, backup plans, avoid touristy districts