This is gon’ be a long one folks!
So sit back, relax, and the enjoy the show!
On Saturday, I rented a cheap hotel room in Maidan for 4 nights. I was going to old town Kyiv on Sunday for my old friend Andre’s birthday over by the Landscape Alley. So I decided if I was going to pay the $5 to $10 Bolt taxi from my apartment on the outskirts, then I might as well just spend a few nights in Kyiv Center like the old days.
Things really started to feel like the old days when Ross gave me a call right before I left for Maidan, telling me he had just had another conflict with his unit and was coming back to Kyiv after nearly dying a few times (Again).
“This time was different bro. It was scary. I thought I was going to die. I got a concussion from an RPG hitting the trench right next to me through the window. I had been running back and forth between two windows, laying down suppressive fire. It was just me, bruv! They left me to defend an entire part of the line alone. It was scary, bruv,” he told me.
“Well at least you’re still alive,” I told him over the phone.
“No like artillery, yea, was targeting me, and I just had to sit there with just some wood logs and dirt above me. I could hear the logs cracking, bruv. And when I tried to call in artillery to cover me, they told me over the radio to silence, bruv,” he continued.
“Jesus,” I replied.
“Yea, I told them, I don’t mind dying, but I don’t want to die doing some stupid shit, and this was just stupid, bruv,” he spoke seriously.
“Damn!” What else could I say?
“Yea but anyways, when I get back to Kyiv, let’s have a drink,” Ross insisted.
“Sounds good, man,” I nodded.
I Bolted into Maidan, checked into my hotel, and had a few drinks walking down memory lane.
The next day, a bit hungover, I got a call from Ivan, Andre’s English-speaking friend, that I should come down to the park at 5 p.m. for the birthday party. Andre wasn’t drinking anymore (He found God recently), but everyone else was.
“Hopefully you don’t get sick again,” Ivan laughed over the phone.
Last year, at the same location, I may have thrown up a couple times after too many shots of whiskey. Come to think of it, back in those days, every time I was with Andre I ended up puking.
“I’m not gonna puke this time,” I told Ivan and myself.
When I walked to the park, I knew exactly where to go: where I heard electric guitar floating up in the distance. The sun shone hot and brightly. As I returned to the place where my last trip to Kyiv ended, a surreal feeling began building in my gut. I saw Andre and Ivan set up beneath the shade of a large rock.
“Andre! Ivan! My friends!” I called out as I arrived.
“Welcome to Kyiv!” Andre shouted excitedly.
We all exchanged hugs.
“Happy birthday, Andre!” I exclaimed.
“Thank you, my friend,” Andre nodded gratefully.
“So you are back now. Have you finished your school?” Ivan asked.
“Hell yea! I’m a grad now,” I laughed.
Pointing over to the musician playing halfway decent guitar riffs, I asked, “Is he your friend too?”
That was a joking reference to the fact that it seemed like every artist of any kind in Kyiv was somebody they knew.
“No,” Andre replied.
“Somebody needs to take him, tie him up, and teach him how to play music until he understands,” Ivan informed me.
“Just take him off the street,” I laughed.
“Exactly,” Ivan nodded.
“Bring back Piano Anton!” I fake-protested.
Piano Anton was their extremely talented friend who had performed last time I was here. He and I ended up being the last people drinking at a bar when it shut for curfew. What a time to be alive!
Ivan and I started hitting the whiskey. I tried to water down mine with Coca-Cola, but this only did so much to defend against the drunkenness. More of their friends kept coming, and the drinks kept flowing. Many cigarettes were smoked upon this night.
Things started to get a little hazy, and while I did not puke, by the end of the night I was so drunk that my leg was slightly shaking uncontrollably, and I swayed this way and that in every direction despite my best efforts.
Andre decided that I had had enough, and he was going to bring me home. After making sure I wore a helmet, I climbed on the back of Andre’s motorcycle, and we sped through the heart of Kyiv. We were cutting through traffic, buzzing around curves. It was epic. Talk about surreal. Eventually he dropped me off near my hotel, and I eventually made it back alive and unspoiled.
“Thanks for everything, Andre!” I bade him farewell.
The next day I met Ross for Bochka breakfast. I was supposed to meet him the night before after the birthday party, but I had to text him that I was simply too drunk. We came back to the place where so many beers had met their end, Bochka. We each had their English breakfast and a liter of beer to wash it all down.
Ross reiterated his story from the front, with a few liters of beer more, before we decided to head back to his place to drink some Revos and smoke some cigarettes. Revos are an energy-drink-alcohol weighing in at about 8.5% abv. When we finally got to his place, Revos in hand, the drinking really started. We had only gotten 3 each because Ross told me, “If I have anymore than that, I turn into a right cunt!”
I told him the story of my cousin Jayden and his inability to drink Vodka Red-Bulls without getting crazy.
“Oh yea, I can relate,” Ross laughed.
After a while of smoking cigarettes and sipping Revos, we decided it was time to head out somewhere. There was a lovely little fountain restaurant-bar where we decided to spend our Hryvnia. We each had a beer, then 2 mojitos. I had a bowl of borscht, which was delicious.
“Let’s go to Buena Vista!” Ross exclaimed.
“Oh, Jesus,” my stomach and I replied.
Buena Vista had been the site of a legendary story that I recount in great detail in my forthcoming book, but that I will not be relaying to you people here due to its depth and depravity. Needless to say, Buena Vista is hard on me.
Fuck tequila!
And what did Ross order when we got there? Tequila. He ordered us each a beer and shot of tequila, and then the bartender, bored with an empty bar, decided to give us one on the house like the sick bastard he was. It was a conspiracy, man! They were out to get me, man! Everyone’s in on it! Everyone’s against me!
Somewhere in the deluge that followed, Ross ordered another shot of tequila, after which he went upstairs for a cigarette, and I promptly went to the bathroom to vomit my heart out. I so vomited so viciously all over the place, that after it was done I had to leave immediately or risk or 5-star bounty.
So much for that delicious borscht…
When I hobbled upstairs, I saw Ross passed out in a chair on the front porch.
I was like, “Fuck this shit. I gotta get home.”
If I didn’t make it back to the hotel now, I knew I never would. So, I called a Bolt to whisk me away from that horrible place. Apparently, Ross didn’t wake up until closing, almost 6 hours later, when they presented him with the bill!
“Dude I puked so viciously at Buena Vista,” I texted Ross.
“I don’t know how I got home, bruv. I don’t remember how I typed in the code. I don’t remember calling my missus, and I don’t remember falling asleep,” Ross told me over the phone the next day.
Utterly marvelous!
That's all for now!
Some other things happened over the course of these days, but I’ve taken up enough time from you good people.
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