same as it ever was

I had decided to go to the hostel party at Why Not? for my New Years celebration. It was 150 grivna for an all you can eat and drink deal, so I thought, why not? The Canadians were also going, as were some other people from my own hostel, the Chillout. Some thirty people were gathered around a large table in the common room. The table wasn't quite large enough, nor was the room, so all the travelers were squeezed in next to each other. There were people from Australia, Russia, the United States, Canada and a handful of other countries. Food was served, mostly small bite sized sandwiches and other hors d'oeuvres that were scattered around the table. The drink was mostly vodka, a series of short toasts led by the Australian, who was also leading the music selection. He kept insisting on listening to Irish drinking songs. Finally Leonid, the hostel worker at the Chillout, suggested to me to get my accordion. I pulled it out and played two songs, when finally the Australian said it was enough and added, “But I've got a really good song here.” He proceeded to put on one of the latest club favorites, “What the Fuck?” Which was my question to myself when I found preference for that song over my accordion playing. I went into the hallway and retired the accordion, though more people there were asking me to keep playing. I pulled it back out and soon a hostel worker at the Why Not? came by.

“You can't play that here man,” he said. “People are sleeping. You can play that in the common room.” 

“They're sleeping at 10 o'clock pm on New Years Eve?”

“I don't make the rules, man.” And at Why Not? hostel on New Years, there were rules!
 

The common room was still being dominated by the Australian and his array of Irish tunes and club hits. I brought the accordion back up to my hostel and came down, finished for the night, just waiting for the New Years to come so I could get it over with. That's when Leon and Marc found me. “Hey man! Come with us to go see the fireworks at Maidan.” I grabbed a bottle of champagne, put it in my coat pocket, and joined the procession of party-goers into the main square of Kiev. Millions of people were gathered there by this time, all waiting for the countdown. The streets were packed, we had to weave our way through, picking through small cracks in the crowd like a mother picks for lice in her child's hair. Soon we were just before the stage and the countdown had begun.

“10, 9, 8,” the crowd called off.

Leon kept repeating, “This is my best New Years ever! I'm never staying in Canada for New Years again!”

“2, 1!” and the fireworks began to shoot up into the air, loud cannons and explosions of color illuminating the sky for miles. The fireworks kept going for about thirty minutes, keeping pace with the constant cheering masses. People took videos, held up their children on their shoulders, hugged each other, called loved ones and wished each other blessings for the new year. After we downed our bottle of champagne, the two Canadians and I ran through the crowd, wishing all the Ukrainians we could find a “S novom rokom!” Soon though, we got separated and I couldn't find them again. I began my walk back to the hostel, watching all the well-wishers. People were gathered in their groups on the street, sharing glasses of champagne and vodka. There were street performers, fire twirlers and guitar players, singing into the cold morning of the new year. 

Happy New Year!

I started talking with one group of Ukrainians. They were headed the same direction as my hostel, so we were all walking together. “Where are you going?” I asked them.

“We're going on to a party,” one guy, Maksim, said in English. “What about you?”

“I'm just heading back to my hostel,” I said.

“Why don't you come with us?”

“Yeah, why not? You know, I've got an accordion I could go get as well.” We picked up my accordion at the hostel and went on to their apartment, which was only a few blocks away. We came into the apartment and wished everyone a happy new year. There were about 10 people in the apartment, each of them with drinks and food, listening to mostly American music playing from the computer. They turned it off to listen to the accordion, and I played on while they danced around in a circle. My accordion playing was redeemed. I eventually set it down and engaged everyone in conversation. Eventually, I found myself in the kitchen, surrounded by guys, talking about politics and current events.

“What do you think of the Ukrainian situation?” one guy asked me.

“You guys had a good start,” I said, “with the whole Orange Revolution thing. But then you stopped and took some steps back. Just like everyone. The person you elected in was corrupt, but not as much as the old guy, but now the old guy's back and you put the new girl in jail. I can't say that's overly democratic, since now the guy who's in charge is worse than Timoshenko. But I think there's hope. You're generation man, you're the post-soviet generation, it's up to you to clean it up.”

“I don't know,” Maksim said. “I think we're fucked.”

“You guys can change it. Look at what's happening in the Arab states now. They're rising up and trying to take control.”

“But they're not succeeding. The army just took Egypt. And who knows what will happen everywhere else. We can't change anything.”

After more of this talk, I was growing tired, so I told them I had to go.

“You can stay here though!”

“No, I need to go,” I said. I gathered my things and left back into the night, finishing up the completely random experience between me and some strangers in the night.