Ukraine Part 2
My second trip to Ukraine started badly. There was a snowstorm piling inches on Ukrainian roads and tarmac. Our plane from Istanbul swooped down for a landing, decided it was unsafe, and rose again. It did that twice more before finally depositing passengers, wan and shaken, at Boryspil International Airport.
The airport, now closed to civilian flights because of the war, is some 29 kilometers outside of Kyiv. It is old and reminded of Washington’s Reagan National back when it was simply National. It houses a single restaurant, no giftshop, and peeling linoleum floors.
I found a cab and we headed for Kyiv.
I speak no Ukrainian or Russian, and the driver was monolingual. After a half-hour on back roads, I began to fear he was going to murder me for my luggage. drop me in a ditch and leave my frozen corpse behind. We were in farm country with not a city in sight. We passed three cars, and the roads were slick. I prayed to the Toyota god for safety and the god listened. The driver was avoiding the larger roads because Ukrainian drivers are just as bad in the snow as East Coasters. As we eventually neared the city, I saw dozens of cars either abandoned or stuck in the snow. My driver crawled through them as if doing a particularly slow Paris-Dakar rally, and almost an hour after leaving the airport, he deposited me at the front door of the Friend’s apartment where I was staying. Soon thereafter, the snow stopped. I saw no snowplows anywhere, and walking was treacherous as the sidewalks weren’t cleared.
Kyiv is charming, and the thought of neighborhoods reduced to rubble is painful. Like Paris, but much larger, it is a walking city. There’s an erratic subway system where people today shelter from the Russian bombardments. Parks are lined with old tires half-buried and painted yellow, and in normal times, coffee vendors in kiosks and carts produce gallons of excellent espresso, ice cream, and other delectable. In stores, you find vegetables and legumes that were grown largely without fertilizer and are normal-sized. The bakeries boast dozens of fresh breads, and in the deli section, you’ll see a variety of meats not to be found anywhere else. There’s an enormous selection of drinking water, as the water in Kyiv is hardly potable. Miller Light beer is highly prized and expensive, and one entire market aisle was devoted to vodka. Security guards were posted at each end and gave shoppers the stink eye.
The Dnieper River which bisects Kyiv is lined with excellent restaurants and in the evening the walkway there is thronged. Street musicians—guitarists, flautists, accordion players, and trios of singers dressed in traditional garb, ply their trades. Most of the restaurants are closed now, and I understand the walkway is off-limits.
This year, spring in Ukraine is unlikely to be a joyous time, but I’m increasingly confidant Putin has over-reached. The West, by imposing its sanctions, is hurting Russian civilians, though the oligarchy is unlikely to suffer the deprivations. Both constituencies need to realize their leader is driving their nation to ruin. When they do, we’ll see an end to Putin’s dictatorship and to the unpopular war he is waging.
SIDE NOTE—There’s humor and then there’s humor. I’m personally delighted and amused that Putin, who had a heavy hand in the last two US presidential elections, is now accusing Washington of planning his overthrow. Is this what is meant by ‘chickens coming home to roost’?
The airport, now closed to civilian flights because of the war, is some 29 kilometers outside of Kyiv. It is old and reminded of Washington’s Reagan National back when it was simply National. It houses a single restaurant, no giftshop, and peeling linoleum floors.
I found a cab and we headed for Kyiv.
I speak no Ukrainian or Russian, and the driver was monolingual. After a half-hour on back roads, I began to fear he was going to murder me for my luggage. drop me in a ditch and leave my frozen corpse behind. We were in farm country with not a city in sight. We passed three cars, and the roads were slick. I prayed to the Toyota god for safety and the god listened. The driver was avoiding the larger roads because Ukrainian drivers are just as bad in the snow as East Coasters. As we eventually neared the city, I saw dozens of cars either abandoned or stuck in the snow. My driver crawled through them as if doing a particularly slow Paris-Dakar rally, and almost an hour after leaving the airport, he deposited me at the front door of the Friend’s apartment where I was staying. Soon thereafter, the snow stopped. I saw no snowplows anywhere, and walking was treacherous as the sidewalks weren’t cleared.
Kyiv is charming, and the thought of neighborhoods reduced to rubble is painful. Like Paris, but much larger, it is a walking city. There’s an erratic subway system where people today shelter from the Russian bombardments. Parks are lined with old tires half-buried and painted yellow, and in normal times, coffee vendors in kiosks and carts produce gallons of excellent espresso, ice cream, and other delectable. In stores, you find vegetables and legumes that were grown largely without fertilizer and are normal-sized. The bakeries boast dozens of fresh breads, and in the deli section, you’ll see a variety of meats not to be found anywhere else. There’s an enormous selection of drinking water, as the water in Kyiv is hardly potable. Miller Light beer is highly prized and expensive, and one entire market aisle was devoted to vodka. Security guards were posted at each end and gave shoppers the stink eye.
The Dnieper River which bisects Kyiv is lined with excellent restaurants and in the evening the walkway there is thronged. Street musicians—guitarists, flautists, accordion players, and trios of singers dressed in traditional garb, ply their trades. Most of the restaurants are closed now, and I understand the walkway is off-limits.
This year, spring in Ukraine is unlikely to be a joyous time, but I’m increasingly confidant Putin has over-reached. The West, by imposing its sanctions, is hurting Russian civilians, though the oligarchy is unlikely to suffer the deprivations. Both constituencies need to realize their leader is driving their nation to ruin. When they do, we’ll see an end to Putin’s dictatorship and to the unpopular war he is waging.
SIDE NOTE—There’s humor and then there’s humor. I’m personally delighted and amused that Putin, who had a heavy hand in the last two US presidential elections, is now accusing Washington of planning his overthrow. Is this what is meant by ‘chickens coming home to roost’?
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