| May 2007 Ukraine, Part Five During our city tour, we also visited another of the oldest relics in Kiev, the Golden Gate. The gate was once the major way in and out of the city, and was fortified well enough that almost no one could penetrate it. Our tour guide told us Ghengis Khan was the only leader to penetrate the walls by finding a weaker place in the wall on the backside of the city. She claimed the walls there were made of wood. Other texts say Baty-Khan, of the Golden Horde, captured the city. He then lead the city for one hundred years. He made his entrance through another less-fortified entrance than the Golden Gate. After his rule, Kiev went to Lithuanian power, then Polish, and then back to Russian and Ukrainian rule under their "Pereiaslav Agreement" I have mentioned earlier. Most of the Golden Gate is not original, since it was built between 1017 and 1024. And the gate itself showed majesty. What makes it even better is the great tower and the Annunciation Church on top of the Gate. This was given to the city by Yaroslav after he prayed to the Virgin Mary and then promised her he would build her a church dedicated to her if he won a huge battle against the many nomads who often attacked Kiev. Yaroslav Mudry (or Yaroslav the Wise in many texts... it's the same guy) is outside the gate, and his statue shows him holding up the church as a gift to the city and the people of his city. The fact that the Golden Gate is there at all is quite amazing. For by the 1600s, the gate was in severe disrepair. It held a lot of historical significance, and was the site of many different ceremonies even though it was no longer used to hold off attackers. By the 1700s, the ruins of the Gate was covered up with earth. About one hundred years later, the gate was reborn when archeologists uncovered the ruins again, fenced it in, and rebuilt the Gate as best they could to its former majesty. And it was quite a feat, but excavators discovered frescoes and mosaics on the wall and floors of the church. Weapons and other pieces were found all over the grounds. Builders finished by May of 1982 when Kiev celebrated its 1500th anniversary.  Kiev's Golden Gate Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  Kiev's Golden Gate Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  Yaroslav the Wise in front of the Golden Gate Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  Yaroslav the Wise in front of the Golden Gate Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  Sam and Nicole at the Statue of Pronya Prokopovna and Svirid Golohvastov, two characters from the play "After Two Hares" written by M. Staritskiy Photo courtesy Nicole Weber Photo by Derrick Sheller There are several roads leading to and from the area, and just like many cities like Kiev, cars drive and park on the sidewalk, the cobblestone, and sometimes in various parts of the square. On the St. Mikhayil's side of the square, there is a statue showing Princess Olga, Apostle Andrew, St. Cyril and St. Methodius. They are meant to represent Kiev's spirit, politics and art. On the St. Sophia's Cathedral side of Sofiyska Square is a large statue of Bohdan Khmelnytsky on horseback. He liberated Kiev from Poland, but then handed the country over to the Russians, as I mentioned in an earlier chapter. The area is certainly a place where you can feel history. There is political and religious energy, but there is also the energy of recent war, of building and rebuilding. And at the same time there is an overwhelming feeling of peace. Our next stop was St. Andrei's Church. And although we didn't go into the church because we were planning to do the tour later, it still gave us a good perspective of where the church was in relation to Sofiyska Square. Next to St. Andrei's Church is Andrei's Decent, a steep cobblestone street leading past the church, on down to the left, then completely curving around to the right, and every inch of sidewalk with a vendor on one or both sides of the walk. At the bottom of the hill are museums and art galleries, and the National Chernobyl Museum a few block away from the bottom of the decent, not too far from the Metro stop. The four of us didn't spend a lot of time at the bottom of the decent, but we were told that the statue of the barber and a woman of the aristocracy at the top of Andrei's Decent was good luck and that if we rubbed the woman's ring, then rubbed the cockroach on the barber's butt, then did the hokey pokey and turned ourselves around we would be happy in love or be permanently creeped out by folk barbers. At this point, the short stories about getting good luck from monuments and buildings was getting really tiresome. I just wanted some history, and it was getting insulting to think that we all traveled half way around the world in order to get good luck from rubbing statues like some magic lamp.  St. Andrei's Church Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  Inside St. Andrei's Church Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  Inside St. Andrei's Church Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  St. Andrei's Church Photo courtesy Nicole Weber The driver waited for us as we went up and past the area of Andrei's Decent. At one spot, in an area now under reconstruction, there sits a 500-year-old plum tree. There was also a tent holding a church service, and the tour guide took us along a walkway and overlook to the city. What I could remember about this little detour was a lot of graffiti, a lot of reconstruction, and the tour guide saying, blah, blah, blah... St. Blahsen Blah... TV Tower... Blah, blah, blah, something about the mafia and that building over there... blah, blah, blah... and now if you'll follow me...  A building near at the top of Andew's Decent, possibly an apartment of office building Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  Stenciled graffiti showing a businessman is a marionette, or puppet Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  More Stenciled anti-Coca Cola graffitti Photo courtesy Nicole Weber Once in a while I was able to write about this trip, and at this moment, in this beautiful city, I was already overwhelmed. But the truth is, it was a useful tour in a the sense that we needed to get our bearings. Come to find out, as we all did later, these tours were more useful in cities like St. Petersburg and Moscow, for what Nicole and I later discovered was that in Kiev, it is much easier to simply walk where you want to go, or take the Subway (Metro) and walk from the closest stop, for Kiev is a big city, and almost everywhere you want to go is really within walking distance from the city center, or from the heavily used Metro stops.  St. Mickhayil's Monastery of the Golden Domes Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  St. Mickhayil's Monastery of the Golden Domes Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  St. Mickhayil's Monastery of the Golden Domes Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  St. Mickhayil's Monastery of the Golden Domes Photo courtesy Nicole Weber The door keys were tricky, and we found out that it was entirely possible to lock yourself inside or outside of the building, and one way was to accidentally jam or break off your key in the door. Luckily we never did this, but it became apparent that at any or all times at the front door of the building it was entirely possible to be frustraded by the lack of a good, easy-to-use locking mechanism on a glass door that could be easily smashed by anyone who needed desperately to get in or out. Once inside, we discovered how half of the entryway was done up in beautiful tile, murals on the wall, and all new doors and rails. The second half of the entryway, which included the original Russian elevator and stairway to the building, looked like something out of an American depression-era film, or an "Oh, look at me, I'm a poor, starving artist" of the crappy french film say-nothingism era that gets regurgitated every generation. Unlike so many American films, which require a nice stairwell shaft, the place would have never worked for a U.S. action-adventure film, for there was no place to drop a fake body down a flight of stairs. Hollywood is always so predictable. But all that being said, I did find myself daydreaming and from time-to-time my imagination would have me trying to get through the front door lock faster, make my way through a series of dark hallways before some man with a scar or a burn on his left cheek caught up with us and forced me to divulge the location of my perpetual motion machine. And then I got to thinking that it was entirely possible to outrun the rest of my group. And it reminded me that in the wild you don't have to outrun a grizzly bear on a camping trip. You just have to outrun the other campers. I've seen enough reruns of Marty Stauffer's "Wild America" that I know how it works. Animals have an inherent bit of laziness, just like gangsters and mobsters. They'll pick off the easy ones first. And in a way, you have to let it happen. Not because I'm shallow or vain, but because it's the only way to write a sequel. And that sequel has the hero going back to hunt down those gangsters and give them justice. You don't make enough money to buy your second Maserati until you write that sequel. But I digress. We found our palace, after cramming ourselves onto the small, Russan-era elevator and ascending to the third floor. It was always faster, we found, to just walk the two flights up if we weren't carrying too many things. We were living in number 72, on floor three. And we shared the floor with numbers 70, 71a, and I think number 71. We opened the door to find a breathtaking apartment. There were hardwood floors throughout, the ceilings had deep, 3-dimensional designs, there was a full kitchen and eating area, a hot-tub/shower, a seperate water closet (as was usually the case in Ukraine and Russia), there was a sizeable living room with a large couch, large chairs, mirrored hallways giving the place an incredibly open feeling, and there were two balconies, one off of the large living room, and one off of Derrick and DiAnna's room.  Our room in Kiev Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  Our room in Kiev Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  Our apartment in Kiev Photo by Sam Sinke  We meet up with one of DiAnna's friends who works for the TV Network in Kiev Photo by Sam Sinke  Dinner with friends in Kiev Photo by Sam Sinke  DiAnna and Derrick try a shot of Horilka! Photo by Sam Sinke I do have to say that occasions like this were rare, and the real people of Ukraine, such as the people we were visiting with, were amongst some of the most outstanding people I have ever met. And they certainly made up for the situation by creating a fun, unforgettable evening. One of the things I'd read about before we left, and wanted to try was the Ukrainian Vodka called Hrilka (pronounced Gor-IL-Ka). One of the versions of this infamous golden firewater is made by the Nemiroff company (which sounds strangely like the other Russian Vodka company called Smirnoff). It is made, in part, using very hot peppers and honey. And between Derrick, DiAnna and I, we took down two whole bottles. And the stupid part was that I had been forewarned by what I had read before we left on this trip. And, I remember distinctly DiAnna telling me, "Ohhhhh, you better be careful what you ask for!" Travel writer Gary Shteyngart says of "Gorilka" that: "The Russian cure for any ailment ranging from stomach ulcers to delusions of grandeur is 150 grams of vodka (about three shots). But for a cold this serious K. prescribed two bottles of Gorilka..." Most people would read the above statement and quietly make a note to themselves to remember to never, ever drink such a thing. But curiosity had the best of me, and I just had to have some of this stuff. What Mr. Shteyngart neglected to mention is this firewater's ability to put a perfect relationship into despair. He also didn't mention how Hrilka gives men the ability to do exactly the opposite of what women just told them not to do, something we are actually good at in the first place. Somehow this orange fluid heightens these abilities, and I believe that each shot gives the drinker a heightened level of trouble even though toasts are given to avoid this dilemma. I have not made all of my final calculations, but I believe the table looks something like this:  Chart provided by editors of Plastic Sled Quarterly Chart has been cross-referenced with editors at badwhiskeyguys.com And with the International Brotherhood of Scotch and Vodka Tasters
 A picture of the sad, yet awesome Kiev Band. Picture by Sam Sinke There was one group of five sitting on one wall, and I sat closer to the band on the other wall. There was a bartender and one customer at the bar in the back. And after listening to a song or two, a young woman had come in behind me and seated herself at the bar in the back. She took out some drumsticks and was trying to rap out the rhythm on a wooden stool. It was proving to be a little annoying to some people in the room, but nobody was saying anything. I was fascinated. She lacked a steady rhythm, and lacked some style. And she lacked a lot of charisma. But she clearly wanted so bad to be a drummer. Before anyone went to try and stop her, I stopped her on my way out. I reached for her sticks and said, "Can I show you something?" I stuck out my hand a little further, and she handed me her drumsticks and smiled, understanding that I wasn't going to make off with her sticks. I started tapping my foot to the 4/4 rhythm and counted: one, two, three, four... one, two, three, four... Then I added the tapping of the sticks. I handed the sticks back. She went about tapping, but had no foot tap. "Nyet!" I said. I put out my hands. She handed the sticks back. I counted with my fingers: one, two, three, four. She tapped again, and again she tried and failed to keep her foot moving. I made the motions, but I was stressing that she had to have the downbeat. It was loud in there, and hard to get an idea of how much English she understood. I made a motion with my hand, stessing the downbeat, and said to her that the downbeat comes from the foot. And with rock and roll, the rhythm all comes from the base drum, played by the foot, not by the hands or the sticks. I repeated to her to tap her foot. I pointed at my foot, showing her the rhythm with my foot. It was like the lightbulb went off, and like a child riding a bike, she had figured it out. I said "Das-Vi-Danya" and started to leave. She asked in somewhat broken English, "Are you a drummer?" "Yes," I said, and I waved goodbye as I went back up the stairs. A few songs had gone by, I had done some jamming with the band, with a wanna-be drummer, and been caught up in a moment that was so priceless it was near impossible to explain. Most likely I had been gone about 10-15 minutes, maybe more, but by the time I actually used the restroom and joined everyone else upstairs, they didn't even notice I had been gone for that amount of time. After talking to Nicole about this later, she had guessed I had done something like this. And it became more clear to me that nothing gets by her. I know how much she enjoys music, but it makes me wonder why I crave it. Being around other musicians like that energizes and recharges my batteries. We don't even have to play together and I can feel it. And it doesn't just happen with any musician. Whether somebody is really good or really bad doesn't matter. But when somebody purely enjoys playing or singing or listening to music and can't wait to share anything they know, I can truely feel that joy. It's like living in a moment of truth and clarity. It's like living in a moment of non-judgement and living in pure, real love. Some of the best moments I've spent with Nicole centered around music, and I enjoy moments with Nicole so much when and if they are centerted around music. This is partly because when we first met, we captured so many moments, flying up highway one in California, just passed Monterey, singing along to Phil Vassar who was singing about catching a girl's "Little Red Rodeo" and how her mom had a place "down in Monterey." The top was down on our convertible, Nicole's browned skin was glowing in the California sun, and she was so beautiful, mostly because I remember most singing along with her, watching her enjoy the act of singing and sharing a song with me. There is so much indescribable joy in a moment when two people sing together. We crossed the bridge going into Oakland, singing John Mayer tunes. It is so much fun to see Nicole sing, and it is so rare, as if I'm the only one who has caught her doing it, and she was so carefree and open to the world she decided there was no harm in singing. In fact, she not only believed but knew that if she kept singing she was bringing joy and love to others. It was such a rare moment, and I'm so glad that each of those rare memories also happen to be vivid ones in my mind. When Nicole is down, I think of those times when she is so carefree and singing to me that it simply melts away the sadness before me. I want so much to share more of these moments with Nicole, but I'm aware that my musical tastes are much, much broader than most people. And even though I understand there is an audience for most music, I also realize that most people only choose to listen to 1% of the world's music. Nicole does have diverse taste in music, and that makes things easier. I'm just weird when it comes to music. I cried when I heard Warren Zevon passed away. I stood up in the movie theater when I saw Elvis Costello and Burt Bacharach playing together in an Austin Powers Film. And I was horrified when an intern working with me at the last Iowa Caucus asked "Who is this loser, and why do we have to listen to him all night?" And I tried not to clench my teeth when I calmly answered that this was Hal Ketchum, that he actually isn't a loser, is widely known, and oh... that he was famous enough to be hosting the Grand Ole Opry the next weekend. So I'm always too afraid that I might be dragging somebody too far into my fascination with kitch, or at least music that's outside of the mainstream or pop culture commercials. That night, it was too much to ask even a few minutes of my friends to sit and listen to awful music in a basement in Kiev, Ukraine. Nobody got it. So I decided to steal my own moment for a few minutes. And I felt I had done so much wrong by doing this, and that I should have never gotten away with it. And yet there was something familiar about all of this, in that you could have come across this crappy cover band at any small bar anywhere in the U.S. This was just different from all that, because these people were doing more than just imitating a bunch of songs. They were trying to somehow imitate a culture. After I joined the group again, we stuck around for a drink or two, then made our way back to the apartment. And while I would like to write an in-depth story about how the next 17 hours transpired, I'm in deep enough trouble. And this portion of the story will remain between Nicole, Derrick, DiAnna, and I. All I can say is Ukrainians have indeed invented a vodka fully capable of curing anything, but mostly capable of curing delusions of grandeur. I will also say that I could have killed a hobo with my shoe the night before and have been in less trouble with Nicole. To my defense, everywhere we went it was loud, and I always have trouble hearing people in the midst of loud crouds. I would also say that even though I had a lot to drink, I was the only one functioning highly enough to be able to unlock the front door to the apartment. Derrick had issues with the lock while he was stone-cold sober. I have totally missed the point, and I have missed it over and over again. And that's mostly because of one thing, one thing that women know but they just don't fully accept and give us men credit. That one thing is this: Men really aren't all that bright. I can give you many examples. But I will not. I'll give you one. Look at Einstein. Brilliant man, couldn't manage to brush his hair or see a barber. If you need more, email me. By the end of the night, I sat in the kitchen writing. Nicole had gone to bed, Derrick had gone to bed, and I had a chance to tell DiAnna how much I appreciated what she had done for us all, and I was literally brought to tears by the beauty of her country and its people. I hope she will always be proud to call Ukraine her home. And I told her that I want so much to come back someday. Maybe we can go to Crimea. And maybe we can listen to some music.  Independence Square Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  Independence Square Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  Independence Square Photo courtesy Nicole Weber And while I will openly admit to being a little bit wrong that night, I sure would appreciate the same from my better half every once in a while. I am a writer, and I like to research and find truth and tell about it whenever possible. And after coming to a better understanding from some recently uncovered and undoctored photos, I found a picture showing Nicole doing something that helped lead to my delinquency on the night in question. For with everyone's forewarned knowledge about Nemiroff Vodka (known as Ukrainian Horilka as I mentioned earlier), that such a liquid would most likely make me do stupid things, Nicole is seen pouring me a shot. She is almost literally caught orange-handed.  Nicole is caught... ORANGE HANDED! When we finally hit the streets the night after the Horilka night, I had a great time. We moseyed here and there, taking in lighted churches and dark but not dangerous alleys of Kiev. We had delicious food from a restaurant I would guess is not in any travel guide. We snuck in under the radar of many locals that night, experienced them as they are, drinking beer at Independence Square, drinking coffee at the local coffee shop, laughing, smoking, texting, hanging out and just enjoying themselves and each other's company. Nicole sat snapping photos of all of this, trying not to be noticed as she clicked pictures of each group of young adults. We took in the humid air, getting some natural air conditioning from time to time. And that's when she walked into and out of our lives. She was the perfect example of what I needed to learn was a loud, obnoxious, drunk american. What she had to say that night was so stupid I had to let it go in one ear and out the other. She couldn't have been more idiotic had she said something like, "I would have driven there myself, but I had to get my hair done on Tuesday. Besides, gummy bears taste better than blue paint." Normal, intelligent people try to figure out what all that means and have a brain aneurysm. So I have figured out how to not only ignore those loud american voices. I have also learned how to make it all go in one ear and out the other. That comes from more than a decade in the television business. But again, I digress. That night in Kiev, as we walked around, just the two of us, I experienced the Kiev I hoped I would get to experience. The weather was perfect, we had a great meal, and we wandered around without any direction yet saw an amazing number of things and people and saw a vast area of the city considering how we chose to simply walk around. I was happy that we did get out that night although we spent the lion's share of the day under the shade of misunderstanding. I define the day as misunderstanding, mostly because I don't believe there was any malicious intent by either of us. And I know that with time and with patience, it is possible to work through issues, learn what we both are looking for in a trip, and learn what we hope for and expect from each other.  Monument of the Central Post Office marking distances to Capitol Cities around the world Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  Monument of the Central Post Office marking distances to Capitol Cities around the world Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  One of the large buildings at Kiev's Independence Square Photo courtesy Nicole Weber  Monument of Independence, erected in 2001 to celebrate 10 years of freedom from Russia Photo courtesy Nicole Weber * I hope to wrap this up with Ukraine, part Six! | Sam's Blog Archive |