The Antiquated System of Communication

By Adria Pelensky

My friends sometimes mock my stubbornness when it comes to change, namely with technology. I have made all the necessary advancements with modern society – I use a Blackberry, I own an iPod, I have a hotmail account, I download music using Bluetooth, and while I have still avoided subscribing to Facebook (a great shock, I know), it is not my unwillingness to change, it is just that I prefer more traditional methods of communication, my favourite being postal mail. Who can deny the joy and excitement felt when one reaches into their mailbox and receives an actual letter or postcard? No one. There’s just something about getting a letter in the mail.

Writing to friends both locally and abroad, long synopsis’ about life, brief postcards, using ornate stationery or lined pages ripped out of an old spiral notebook, cards and parcels, newspaper clippings and detailed care packages - I have done it all. Moving to Ukraine would not change this practice.  

When I arrived in Lviv, it was not until I had lived there for about a month that I wrote home. Friends and family graciously received my letters, and naturally wrote back to me. Unfortunately, I only know this because I communicate with them through other means. All but one letter in the last six months has been lost, stolen or sent to the wrong address. The one letter that did arrive looked like it had been mauled by wild dogs, trampled by a herd of cattle and then re-taped and tied together with the reassuring love and care of UKRposhta (). Based on the customs declaration card, it looked like everything had arrived, but what a trip it must have been. It must have come from to Toronto by way of Tajikistan.  

The lack of incoming mail would not discourage me from continuing to send things abroad. I sent postcards, letters and then decided to collect a few souvenirs and send a package to my loving boyfriend back home. This proved to be a true testament of love.

Sending a letter, some printed photos, some typical packaged Ukrainian food-stuffs, a shot glass, a map, a tourist guide book and a few other souvenirs, I decided to pre-pack  items to save time at the post office and to ensure the safe arrival of my more fragile items. Wrong assumption. Upon arrival, I learned that the postal employee inspects all contents, so they must bear witness to the wrapping. I ripped apart my carefully wrapped package, displayed the array of treasures I wanted sent to Canada and asked to purchase an appropriately sized box in which to send these items. The postal employee nodded her head in disapproval, reorganizing the items into four distinct clusters.

I was told that the shot glass and juice box were perishable items and they would not send them. Fine, back into my kulyok they went. The map, photos and letter would have to be sent from “Window Number Six”, which is from where you send paper-products; the tourist guide book would have to be sent through “Window Number Five”, which deals exclusively with sending books; and the remainder of the items, a bag of grilled chicken flavoured peanuts, a pack of Kozaky cigarettes and a pair of gloves could be sent from “Window Number Three”, which deals with sending gift package items. I was in shock. After waiting in line for over two and a half hours I would have to simultaneously send three different parcels, and wait in two more lines to do this. How could this be possible? What authority could justify this? Why was I unable to send these items together, in one package?

Like many things that puzzle me in Ukraine, I was left with more questions than answers. How could someone create a rule that forbids sending a gift and card together in the mail? The postal employee offered no rationale, and I was in no mood to exchange extensive dialogue. I sent what I could from Window Number three, then moved to Window Number Five and ultimately on to Window Number Six.

I sent my items according to the rules and regulations of UKRposhta (), but no one could explain this redundant organization of shipment. After further investigation, it seemed that many Ukrainians didn’t know these postal rules. Due to the archaic and invasive system of consignment, anyone sending anything by way of mail does not use the national system, but rather uses private firms.

A lesson has been learned, my advice, use Meest.