We take a walk, just a little walk through the city streets, passing the monstrous and yet fascinating House with Chimeras. The mermaids, hippos, frogs and elephants are no less impressive than when I saw them for the first time. Two women are engaged in a violent quarrel nearby - shouting at each other across the street, waving banners, shaking their hands in the air. I cannot understand the language, but I have suspicion that moral-guarding TV censors would have to beep many of the words out. Family trouble? Nah - political protest. Two socially constientious citizens having a disagreement regarding who is entitled to occupy the prominent place by the presidential palace to shout her truth out. Well, maybe some strange power radiating from the House with Chimeras plays its role as well.
As we leave the festival site and walk along the main road to the metro station, we spot an odd sight: In the crowd heading home from the fest, a short way in front of us, there walks a guy. An absolutely inconspicious twenty-something - well, absolutely inconspicuous if it wasn't for the lack of trousers. His bare backside is hard to miss as he weaves his way through the crowds, quickly, as if rushing to be done with that. But with what? A bet? An accident? Showing off? The question is never answered as the guy disappears from view.
We get out of metro and walk home. A row of stalls, deserted so late at night, lines the pavement. One of them is occupied by a bunch of teenagers, drinking, chatting, enjoying themselves. One girl sits with her back of us, and even from the back, it's obvious that she tries her best to look chic. Close-fitting short t-shirt, trousers low on her hips... so low that they reveal almost half of the bare backside below, strongly reminding of another, very recent sight. Obviously the line is very thin - maybe the guy we met earlier was nothing but a daring fashion pioneer...
We sit on top of a grassy hill, watch cats (who look suspiciously like black and tan spies) and plot brilliant business ideas. Such as the Pogues matryoshkas. Those sets of wooden dolls placed inside one another – from the biggest one to the tiniest. All it needs is an eight-piece set, and there would be a perfectly original merchandising item. Well, after deciding some crucial questions: Who would be the the biggest one with the rest of the band inside his belly? Or would it be better to make eight different sets, with eight different cover-dolls to satisfy each single fan (and each single musician)? Dilemmas, dilemmas – but that’s what business is about.
Quare things in Kiev know no end. But „quare“ is not the only fitting epithet – another one is „hidden“. Wandering the streets for a while, and then we walk into a yard of an apartment building. Totally common block of flats, maybe a bit shabby, definitely nothing to write home about. And the yard itself wouldn’t be any more interesting if it wasn’t for a spacious cage in one corner – and its inhabitants. The ravens are huge, black as night, watching curious observers with big clever eyes. How did they appear here? Whose are they? Nobody knows. And more importantly: If anything bad befell them, would the whole city of Kiev fall? As Londoners would agree, better not take the chances.
Business, wildlife... now it’s time for a bit of culture. We enter another yard (a bit bigger, but not a tad more remarkable), circle it once until we find a flight of stairs leading down, underground. Opening a heavy unmarked door, we emerge into a shadowy corridor looking like a passageway from a cellar to cellar. But the rooms hidden behind two other unmarked doors are no cellars – they are small exhibition halls holding a very nice collection of photos. And the entrance – absolutely free of charge. On my way back, I take a look at the door and the entryway to the yard once again. No – no sign. No ad of the gallery. After the morning experience with unmarked buses, I’m getting a stronger and stronger suspicion that this city is a place for the locals only, and nobody else.
Meal in a cool, self-service restaurant with themed sections (one time you can sit next to frolicking Muses in Greece, another time dream under red paper lanterns in China, and yet another time ponder Kamasutra-like figures on the wall in India). Then we decide to have one more dose of nature and head to a yet-unexplored park. I have been promised squirrels and ducks, but what I spot there is beyond all expectations. I lean over the low wall of a pond. (Or shall I call it a pool? Low concrete wall on three sides and a gentle grassy slope on the fourth one, enabling a handful of people to try the charms of the greenish water.) I stare into the green depths below (algae and weed, and some less-natural objects floating here and there) and what my eyes can see is neither a duck nor a fish, but a turtle. Quite big, swimming through the greenery at leisurely pace. It seems totally out of place – the feeling made even stronger by the fact that it behaves as if it was at home there. It delves into the algae only to swim out again, as if to assure me that I’m not imagining things. Turtle. Here. An abandoned pet? A fairytale prince who was fed up with his boring frog-form? Who knows. And who cares that the promised ducks turn out to be pretty uncommunicative and shy this evening – this is more than enough of a compensation.
***
The following day is the D-Day as in the evening we shall set off on a journey of hundreds kilometres, taking us across half of the country. Such a day calls for something undemanding and restful. For example a visit to a toy museum.
After correcting the course of our walk a couple times, we enter a building which looks like an abandoned factory, and after a walk through a deserted corridor (rows of unused tip-up seats make it look a bit like an abandoned cinema for a change), we delve into the world of years long gone, evoking the memories of teddy bears and mashing others’s mud pies in sandboxes. Toys, toys, toys all around. One section is devoted to toys from the Soviet times, another section to traditional ones. We head to the more modern world first. As we are informed by a young enthusiastic museum attendant, all toys had to be examined by a board of censors, who either approved them for mass production or condemned them to nonexistence. It’s obvious that the censors set the noble goal to bring up the kids to be valuable members of society, not afraid of hard work for the common good. Figurines and tools of construction workers, policemen, moms, housewives... all ready to point the young innocents to praiseworthy future careers. Watching some of the toys I have no doubts they must have been really popular. I can imagine the joy of a little cook who got a shiny tiny mincer, all functional – what fun to invite friends to thrust their fingers inside, and then turn the handle... And the tiny sewing machine, complete with a needle, is maybe even more tempting. Looks like the censors wanted the kids to experience real life with all its trials and tribulations. But how could a gambling machine (substituting monetary reward with sweets, thus making gambling even sweeter for kids) escape their eagle-eyed vigilance and care for common welfare is beyond my understanding.
Enough of childhood realm, back to the adult world. Next stop – the Kiev fortress. The place is almost deserted, which is no wonder in this heat – especially since it offers almost no shelter from the merciless sunrays. A complex system of grassy mounds, walls with embrasures, and gates, threatening cannons poised on the top. (The only puzzling thing is that their barrels point at the city instead of being aimed outside, at the approaching enemy. Maybe a cunning trick to make the enemies think that they lost their way and are attacking from a wrong direction? Or does local defensive tactics recommend to raze the city to the ground as soon as an enemy appears at the gates – to discourage him from an attempt to seize it?) Hoses spurt a fine misty spray on the grass to keep it fresh green despite the heat and kindly offer the same favour to half-baked visitors. So even if the city should fall down, the place offers at least the feeling of victory over the murderous weather.
Being in need of some refreshments, we head to the good old Peanut Pub. Walking down a main, yet quiet street, I spot a man standing next to a car parked at the curb. White car. The man looks at it, and suddenly he beats his fist at one of the headlights. Quirky way of repairing a troublesome appliance? Nothing that much surprising, the same way often works for me. However, in the next moment, the man swings his fist even more vehemently, and smashes the headlight into shards. A volley of violent blows on the hood of the car follows. Hmm. The man’s face is contorted in anger. As we are passing him, he circles the car to the back, and in no time at all, one of the back lights follows the fate of its front colleague. We continue walking, but I keep turning back and I’m a witness to the ongoing butchery of the helpless vehicle. Vengeance? Insanity? Well, one more mystery to which I’ll never find the answer.
The Peanut Pub is as cozy as ever, nothing has changed. But before we walk in to savour the pleasures of Staropramen beer, cherry juice and delicious fried mushrooms, I notice something that escaped my attention last year. Last summer, I visited the place late in the evening when darkness had already fallen, so I had no chance to see what the pub looks like from the outside. Now I see that it doesn’t look like anything at all. It’s just a common apartment house. OK, there are some outdoor tables at the side of the building, but the entrance to the pub itself is totally unmarked. Heavy door leading somewhere down, no sign on them, no pub logo, no opening hours, nothing. Just a door. Dark shabby door. Does anybody have a chance to discover this place, perhaps the coziest pub in Kiev? Hardly. Kiev, you’re the lady – but really welcoming towards the locals only.
It’s still early when we leave the place, but no more explorations for today. It’s time to pack and get ready for distant journeys.
Part 2
Part 3
photos © Zuzana, 2006