Kiev - Day Two

I awoke early on Sunday; my train was scheduled to depart at 6:30pm so I had a lot to do and see during the day.

My first stop was near the University metro stop – St.Vladimir’s Cathedral. Its an impressive heap, but the real attraction for me was that the entire interior was executed by a very famous Russian artist – Vasnetsov near the end of the 1800’s. True to billing, the cathedral was absolutely stunning in its decorations, all of which it seems, were done over a heavy layer of gold leaf. It shone brightly as the morning sun streamed through the windows. I stayed for a good part of the service before heading down the street.

Just nearby is the Golden Gate, a major portal through the city wall in the 12th century. Its been completely rebuilt although no one knows for sure what it really looked like. Its in the middle of a nice park in a very charming neighborhood that looks much more European than Russian.

That neighborhood stretches some distance actually, and gets noticeably wealthier as one walks around. The architecture from every period is just superb, and the streets are dotted with little cafes and shops and the curbs lined with mercedes’ and BMWs. It was an accidental journey, really, but one that ended up being a highlight of the trip.

I followed the winding streets down to Sofia Square, a monastery in the center of town that operates as a museum. The grounds are peaceful and beautiful, made all the more beautiful to my Moscow-hardened hide by mild weather and plenty of sunlight. The main cathedral is a jumble of arcades and baroque roofline additions, and golden domes. But surprisingly, the interior is a nearly untouched, pure example of 10th century Byzantine construction. I got the lay of the land from the bell tower (209 steps!) and set up a little bit of plan for the rest of the city.

Then, I followed some more winding streets, somewhat blindly, down to another baroque church and the street market that surrounded it - a huge bazaar of trinkets, knickknacks, and art that stretched for blocks. I stopped to admire a few watercolors and got to chatting with the painter.

He was interested in my impressions of Kiev and how it compared to Moscow. Central Kiev is stunningly gorgeous – but I still hadn’t been outside a more than a mile or two radius from the hotel. A bit hard to compare, to be fair. Of course, I told him that it was much more beautiful than Moscow.

He told me that he was afraid to go to Moscow; “Bandits,” he said.

We discussed the investment value of the watercolor I was about to purchase, and he assured me that in 100 years it would be worth $1 million. He burst into laughter when I used one of my more recently acquired phrases: “stolka ne zhivoot” or “people don’t live that long.”

I followed the market down a winding, steep street called Andeyevsky Spusk to the lower part of town, another charming place. At this point, I was along side the Dnepr River and looking back up at the bluffs where the rest of the city (in particular, the train station) was located. Ahh, but isn’t Kiev famous for its funicular? It is.

For a pittance, I got on a rickety rail car and glided in ease back to the top of the bluff. The path ends at the foot of yet another monastery – but by this point my legendary stamina for monasteries had completely run dry. Instead, I decided to do something completely profane instead – I bought a beer and sat on a park bench and watched the rest of Kiev go by. Very relaxing.

Back at the hotel I picked up my bags and a cab. The fare was extortionately expensive compared to everything else in Kiev, and I told the driver as much. He didn’t really know what to say. Then I offered him half of what he was asking. All he kept doing was pointing at the meter and sort of whimpering. Fine – I gave him the money. How was I going to dump my last Ukrainian currency, anyway?

By buying a beer and snacks for the train, that’s how. I actually got chicken kiev, too. Not so good, unfortunately, so I’ll have to go back and get some in a proper place some day.

The train matron seemed impressed with my US citizenship when she quizzed my cabin mates and me on what documentation we’d need when we reached the border. I asked her if that was strange. “No,” she said, “I just didn’t expect that you’d be able to understand me.”

I got some more attention for being American later, too. At about 3am, the cabin door flew open. “Who’s the US citizen here?” shouted the Russian border guard. I offered up my documents and stuttered something from my bed.

I was surprised on a lot of counts. Of course, it was the middle of the night and I had been asleep. But the border guard was also a very attractive blonde woman. Perhaps I didn’t have my glasses on, perhaps it was more middle-of-the-night than I thought, but at that moment –backlit by the hallway light – she looked just like an angel.

An angry avenging angel in a fur hat, here to punish my transgression of skipping that last monastery and loafing about on a park bench drinking beer instead.

I thought of all the ways I could be unceremoniously yanked off the train, but she eventually came back and handed over my documents with a smile.

No problems. No retribution – divine or otherwise.