William was returning to Scotland and
leaving his girlfriend behind in Ukraine, though he planned to return
in two months after he got his university studies finished with. He
wanted to go out to eat and have some drinks with his new friends who
were living here in Ukraine, that is, Slava and myself. I had also
been promising two Canadians at the hostel, Betty and Chris, that I'd
go out to eat with them as well. I merged the two groups together
into one. Betty was Chris's girlfriend, who had come in from Canada
to visit him, hooking up in Poland and then coming down to Ukraine.
Chris was a writer working on finishing up his MFA. He received a
grant for a project of his, which sponsored his journey across
Eastern Europe and finishing in Russia.
Betty had to leave to return to Canada late that night and wanted to return early on since she still had to pack. She wanted somewhere close and they had found a veraniki place in the guidebook that was close by. Vareniki are little dumplings that are strikingly similar to Polish pirogi, which are themselves strikingly similar to Siberian pelmeni. Ukrainians usually insist that they invented it, so they were just as fun to make fun of as are Georgians about khinkali – another dumpling dish that was likely brought in from the Mongolians. Betty and Chris were open to eating to Puzata Xata, but having eaten there nearly twice a day for the last two weeks, I was growing tired of the buffet. That's not an accurate statement, as really, it's impossible to grow tired of it. Better would be to say that I was wanting to try new places and new places are always best discovered with friends.
The two other girls, weren't so keen on trying new places. They were weary of guide books and wanted to show us a place they knew that was nearby. Twenty minutes later, on the far end of Khreshatik Street, the main avenue in Kiev, we found ourselves in front of their veraniki place – a place which had long gone the way of most Ukrainian cafes and converted into a sushi restaurant. “Well, we know another one over near Vokzal,” they said. Vokzal was an equal distance on the other side of the hostel.
Betty had to leave to return to Canada late that night and wanted to return early on since she still had to pack. She wanted somewhere close and they had found a veraniki place in the guidebook that was close by. Vareniki are little dumplings that are strikingly similar to Polish pirogi, which are themselves strikingly similar to Siberian pelmeni. Ukrainians usually insist that they invented it, so they were just as fun to make fun of as are Georgians about khinkali – another dumpling dish that was likely brought in from the Mongolians. Betty and Chris were open to eating to Puzata Xata, but having eaten there nearly twice a day for the last two weeks, I was growing tired of the buffet. That's not an accurate statement, as really, it's impossible to grow tired of it. Better would be to say that I was wanting to try new places and new places are always best discovered with friends.
The two other girls, weren't so keen on trying new places. They were weary of guide books and wanted to show us a place they knew that was nearby. Twenty minutes later, on the far end of Khreshatik Street, the main avenue in Kiev, we found ourselves in front of their veraniki place – a place which had long gone the way of most Ukrainian cafes and converted into a sushi restaurant. “Well, we know another one over near Vokzal,” they said. Vokzal was an equal distance on the other side of the hostel.
 |
| Khreshatik at night |
“Why don't we just
go where the guidebook suggested?” I insisted.
We went back, though the girls, having never seen the place, still didn't believe in its existence. I took the map from Chris and navigated the way. When we finally found the place, Dasha, William's girlfriend gasped, “This is the same place we were going to take you!”
The interior of Varenichnaya #1 was in a Ukrainian folk style, made to look like a large wooden cottage, complete with a pen with a baby pig at the front, squealing and honking as it played with its toys. Upon entry, I wondered just how many veraniki the pig will make when he got fully grown. The food focused mostly on various styles of veraniki, from the common meat, potato or sulguni cheese stuffed dumplings to the more unusual liver and heart meat stuffed dumplings. William was insistent on drinking vodka with the meal, so we began our steady descent. The lesson of the veraniki was this – just because it's exotic, doesn't mean it's necessarily good. The best veraniki were the simple meat ones, the meat being, I suppose, pork, but like with khinkali, pelmeni and pirogi, no one really knows the actual content. As I've found long ago, sometimes one shouldn't spoil a good thing by asking too many questions.
The next place for the night was Divan. This was where Betty and Chris decided to depart us so they could prepare for Betty's flight. Divan was an underground club in the center of Kiev, just off of Khreshatik street. We entered, went immediately downstairs, passed an aquarium filled with grey crawfish and finally came to the scene of the club. The room was long, filled with about one hundred divans, fifty on either side. The booths were overstuffed and tall, designed for a restaurant far more fancy and expensive than Divan. In fact, Divan was a place far more fancy and expensive, running under some other name long forgotten. What was left was a real punk rock place, with all the pretentious furniture and design; the chandeliers and mirrored walls and a newly installed stage on one end. The band was singing some alternative rock in Ukrainian. I could only guess it was original music. This was a good thing: when I was living near Tbilisi, the only live music sources I could get were either cover bands of jazz music or of 1960s rock and roll. But at least here in Kiev, there's something original. “Those times are passing,” a Ukrainian friend later told me. “Original music is getting replaced by cover bands. Even some of the older, more interesting bands are just starting to play covers. That's what's popular.” I cursed the gods of Western music who had, not only slew the gods of modern Georgian music long ago, but now they had gone on to destroy what was the budding Ukrainian scene.
I was the last to leave the club, having been busy talking to some Ukrainian guys there. My emotions were becoming magnified by the alcohol and I was in despair. My first plan for New Years was to go on to Moscow, but that had failed when I found the complications with the Russian embassy and the matter of the timing to visit my friend. My ex-girlfriend, who was still near and dear to my heart, was then planning to come sometime in January, so we had decided why not for New Years? But she got a promotion and with her new responsibilities, was unable to visit any time in January. That would leave me celebrating alone. But it wasn't just that, it was the new realization that maybe I wouldn't see her again and maybe I should finally take an effort to move on. I had plenty of new friends developing in Ukraine, but without my old girl, maybe I would prefer just a dark alley and a cold bottle of vodka.
We went back, though the girls, having never seen the place, still didn't believe in its existence. I took the map from Chris and navigated the way. When we finally found the place, Dasha, William's girlfriend gasped, “This is the same place we were going to take you!”
The interior of Varenichnaya #1 was in a Ukrainian folk style, made to look like a large wooden cottage, complete with a pen with a baby pig at the front, squealing and honking as it played with its toys. Upon entry, I wondered just how many veraniki the pig will make when he got fully grown. The food focused mostly on various styles of veraniki, from the common meat, potato or sulguni cheese stuffed dumplings to the more unusual liver and heart meat stuffed dumplings. William was insistent on drinking vodka with the meal, so we began our steady descent. The lesson of the veraniki was this – just because it's exotic, doesn't mean it's necessarily good. The best veraniki were the simple meat ones, the meat being, I suppose, pork, but like with khinkali, pelmeni and pirogi, no one really knows the actual content. As I've found long ago, sometimes one shouldn't spoil a good thing by asking too many questions.
The next place for the night was Divan. This was where Betty and Chris decided to depart us so they could prepare for Betty's flight. Divan was an underground club in the center of Kiev, just off of Khreshatik street. We entered, went immediately downstairs, passed an aquarium filled with grey crawfish and finally came to the scene of the club. The room was long, filled with about one hundred divans, fifty on either side. The booths were overstuffed and tall, designed for a restaurant far more fancy and expensive than Divan. In fact, Divan was a place far more fancy and expensive, running under some other name long forgotten. What was left was a real punk rock place, with all the pretentious furniture and design; the chandeliers and mirrored walls and a newly installed stage on one end. The band was singing some alternative rock in Ukrainian. I could only guess it was original music. This was a good thing: when I was living near Tbilisi, the only live music sources I could get were either cover bands of jazz music or of 1960s rock and roll. But at least here in Kiev, there's something original. “Those times are passing,” a Ukrainian friend later told me. “Original music is getting replaced by cover bands. Even some of the older, more interesting bands are just starting to play covers. That's what's popular.” I cursed the gods of Western music who had, not only slew the gods of modern Georgian music long ago, but now they had gone on to destroy what was the budding Ukrainian scene.
I was the last to leave the club, having been busy talking to some Ukrainian guys there. My emotions were becoming magnified by the alcohol and I was in despair. My first plan for New Years was to go on to Moscow, but that had failed when I found the complications with the Russian embassy and the matter of the timing to visit my friend. My ex-girlfriend, who was still near and dear to my heart, was then planning to come sometime in January, so we had decided why not for New Years? But she got a promotion and with her new responsibilities, was unable to visit any time in January. That would leave me celebrating alone. But it wasn't just that, it was the new realization that maybe I wouldn't see her again and maybe I should finally take an effort to move on. I had plenty of new friends developing in Ukraine, but without my old girl, maybe I would prefer just a dark alley and a cold bottle of vodka.
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