Odessa manifests itself in many ways. The biggest is a large port city in the Ukraine. This metropolis of over a million people was founded by the Ottomans in 1240 AD and lies on the balmy shores of the Black Sea. In the last century many of its Jews migrated to Brighton Beach, New York, renamed “Little Odessa” by the locals and memorialized in a Hollywood movie by the same name. It probably sounds more exotic than it is, but I'd still like to explore the black sea by boat and peer into ages past. This seems like a good place to stop along the way.
In quite a different part of the world lies Odessa, Texas. Situated between Pecos and Midland, this dusty town looms large in childhood memories associated with my late paternal grandparents. While they did not live close by, “Midland/Odessa” was the source of all television and radio channels that played in their modest household in Kermit. The entire region reeked of natural gas and horizons peppered with mesquite trees and oil derricks, both awful to see yet strangely comforting and reminiscent of a happy childhood. Even today i get warm fuzzies when I pass by oil fields. That said, I am very much a creature of the urbanized coastal cultures and I’d likely be run out of Odessa, texas for my heretical beliefs and choice of personal vehicles.
All of these cities are exotic and inaccessible in their own way due to language, culture, and geography. Which of course makes me that much more fascinated by them. As in dating, my level of interest is often in inverse proportion to the ease of accessibility and the odds of success in understanding a place (just ask my wife, she still doesn’t understand that common trait in men). But by far the coldest and hardest of all the Odessas I have known is a new employee at our local trading post. It’s not often one meets a person named Odessa, and if asked I bet you would envision an immigrant grandmother rather than a blonde 20-something hipster in Portland. Intrigued by her nametag, both my wife and I complimented her on the uniqueness of her name and attempted to strike up conversation, but all we got was a cold silence after a polite thank you. Not unfriendly, mind you, but there was a clear wall of impermeability and unwillingness to embrace outsiders that one would similarly expect from a West Texan or former cold war enemy. Alas, I (we?) some places and persons are destined to remain exotic outsiders in my life.
In quite a different part of the world lies Odessa, Texas. Situated between Pecos and Midland, this dusty town looms large in childhood memories associated with my late paternal grandparents. While they did not live close by, “Midland/Odessa” was the source of all television and radio channels that played in their modest household in Kermit. The entire region reeked of natural gas and horizons peppered with mesquite trees and oil derricks, both awful to see yet strangely comforting and reminiscent of a happy childhood. Even today i get warm fuzzies when I pass by oil fields. That said, I am very much a creature of the urbanized coastal cultures and I’d likely be run out of Odessa, texas for my heretical beliefs and choice of personal vehicles.
All of these cities are exotic and inaccessible in their own way due to language, culture, and geography. Which of course makes me that much more fascinated by them. As in dating, my level of interest is often in inverse proportion to the ease of accessibility and the odds of success in understanding a place (just ask my wife, she still doesn’t understand that common trait in men). But by far the coldest and hardest of all the Odessas I have known is a new employee at our local trading post. It’s not often one meets a person named Odessa, and if asked I bet you would envision an immigrant grandmother rather than a blonde 20-something hipster in Portland. Intrigued by her nametag, both my wife and I complimented her on the uniqueness of her name and attempted to strike up conversation, but all we got was a cold silence after a polite thank you. Not unfriendly, mind you, but there was a clear wall of impermeability and unwillingness to embrace outsiders that one would similarly expect from a West Texan or former cold war enemy. Alas, I (we?) some places and persons are destined to remain exotic outsiders in my life.
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