My return to Kyiv: part I
A journal entry with heartfelt commentary
30 July 2024: my first trip back to Ukraine since Valentine’s Day, 2022.
My physical journals, dating way back to 2002, started off with more observations, feelings and reflections. As the years progress the entries become shorter (or, more succinct) and consist more of what I call ‘logistical details’: Met so-and-so at this cafe, talked, watched a football match, spent the night on the street, got pickpocketed (again), fell in love…
I was able to return to my apartment and gather all my old journals and commonplace books. Much of what I wrote is insightful and a joy to read all these years later. Much of it is cringeworthy piffle. In other words: painful to read nonsense.
Let me reflect then on my two trips to Kyiv in succinct journal style with more heartfelt reflections mixed in throughout. Things get pretty sombre in part II, coming later this week. At the end of this post, there’s an epic, dramatic story about a potential missed train.
Arrival
Was anxious but excited about coming…just me and my daughter on the way there, from Vienna to Warsaw first, then almost missed our train from Warsaw to Chelm en route to Kyiv (the first of various travel mishaps and bad connections), the departures board was tiny with only 3 destinations and we were in plenty of time looking at the board and our departure was 3 minutes away and still no information about our platform, other people waiting too, then it came up and a bunch of us sprinted to get to the train and we made it with seconds to spare, but strangely the train was full of calm people who looked like they’d boarded ages ago, so how did they all know where to get on (I tried asking them, but got no answers). Anyway, now for the 18-hour trip…
Arrived midday in Kyiv, hot and humid but overcast and gloomy, and the station was so eerily quiet, not how I’d ever remembered it, we were the only train coming or going. First thing that hit me was the number of men waiting with giant bouquets of flowers and running to their loved ones, wives, girlfriends, kids and hugging them so tight…I got teary-eyed and squeezed my little girl’s hand even tighter, so fortunate and at a loss for words in how to describe my thoughts (tragic, unfair, cruel, agonising…) Looking around, I hoped these women and children were returning for good and that there wasn’t going to be a painful parting a week or two later.
After lunch with my father-in-law, and hanging out with our little cat, we returned to our half empty flat (we moved in October 2021, it’s only partially furnished). I’m back in Kyiv to promote my book, see friends, colleagues, deal with some bureaucratic stuff, gather some of my materials, drink some of my scotch…
Received a very detailed message from former student Luda, one of the kindest and most caring people I know (one of the few who regularly remembers my birthday every year!) telling me about the air raid situation and the apps I need to check, what to be more afraid of, what not to worry about as much, etc. It’s overwhelming and nerve-wracking, but it’s important to know. Thank goodness for automatic translation in Telegram.
(I’m tempted to share what she wrote, but for now, let’s just say that there was A LOT of info, and I was grateful to have it, felt more prepared, though the talk of Shahed drones and “ТУ95 or 22 in the air” was rather concerning. More reassuring: “positive note: MiG 31 - if it is 'stand-alone action')) we ignore it.” Okay, then. Got my apps and info and it’s bedtime…
“Welcome home,” Luda’s message began. And then later when I heard my first air raid sirens as I was reading bedtime stories to my daughter, “Seems like our lovely big brother is going to say hi.”
The first siren was strangely anti-climactic. The distant sound of explosions as you’re putting a kid to bed was never something I expected to experience in life (growing up on military bases in Europe, we sometimes had ‘exercises’ with sirens going off, but we always knew it was just a test). I tried to remain calm and stay alert. From my apps, I could see it was only drones. ‘Only drones’ I wrote…my god…
It was an intense night: some 89 Shahed drones were launched, just about all of them caught by air defense. Only a handful were heading towards Kyiv (I think). There we go again – ‘only…’
Stayed awake all night, which isn’t such a problem, I’m used to it with my regular sleeping issues. More sirens, alerts, drones, Telegram alerts. A bit confusing and disorientating. Should I be more concerned, I wondered?
Welcome home, indeed.
Day 2
There are plenty of Ukrainians in Vienna. Most of them seem to speak russian. Abroad, you hear and read things, and you have expectations of what life is like elsewhere, but then when you get there it’s different and you’re surprised at many things.
I was surprised at how many people were speaking russian in Kyiv. I’d heard so often that people were only speaking Ukrainian (the dangers of generalisations and anecdotal evidence, right?).
From February 2022 to now, the bookshop scene in Kyiv has, VERY figuratively, exploded. (I can’t think of a better word, and no humour or bad puns are intended at all). I could also say…mushroomed? (no, not much better)
There are three bookshops in particular, Sens, book.ua, and Readeat that weren’t around when I left. Right off the bat, I wanted to hit (not again…ouch) all three of these and try my luck with arranging book events.
Over the next few days, I was relentless in my ‘marketing’ attempts. I tried the same thing at every venue, with the same result every time. I asked the English-speaking sales assistants if they could recommend a good book in English and then proceeded to describe mine, in a nutshell: “Do you have any books written for language learners but in an interesting way, with stories, anecdotes, good vocabulary, grammar but not with explanations, not a grammar or language learning book, something more fun and relaxing to help improve reading skills?” (or something like that). Every time: “No, I don’t think so, but that sounds interesting, and we have customers asking for books like that a lot.”
Cringeworthy from me: “Well, then…here’s my book!”
What do I know about promoting things? I’m a terrible seller/marketer. But I was audacious and happy to give out a sample copy to assistants and pester them for contact details for event planners and managers. I asked them to read, share, give feedback, etc, anything. I used what little charm I could to get them to listen, and every sales assistant I spoke with was super positive and upbeat and it all sounded so promising…
(A theme from months before and during this trip: constant messages and emails to people, over and over, exploring every angle possible.)
Met Nastia, my student from the mid-2010s who appears on page 254 of my book (she’s the only former student mentioned whose name I didn’t change – I never expected to hear from her again, let alone be sitting with her for a drink years later – oops!). She called me a prostitute in class once, and though that sounds bad, she meant it in a good way (I think…I hope…). Anyway, she was 100% right.
Caught my first glimpse of veterans, including one with a prosthetic leg. God, life is cruel (cue the ‘what kind of god would allow this?’ question). It recalls Maurice Bendrix in The End of the Affair (by Graham Greene): “I hate you God, I hate you as though you existed.”
Veterans: do people feel guilty? Men and/or women? Kids? Do people offer to pay their bill? Do people acknowledge/notice/ignore them? I had many questions and everyone on this trip was okay with talking about this (but these were my friends I was talking to, not sure strangers would be so open).
A summary of what I heard on this trip: at first we felt guilty, and didn’t want to go out, but then we have to live our lives and we appreciate what they’re doing and we’re all doing what we can to help and…and…(there’s not an easy way to talk about this, these are fragmentary thoughts I’m sharing).
Kids I’ve taught often complain when they don’t win a game in class: it’s not fair! Get over it, I tell them. Life isn’t fair. Chance plays a big part anyway. And besides, you only complain about unfairness when it happens to you. No one complains until it affects them for the first time.
Earlier, I was feeling sorry for myself – looking around our new flat, the investment, seeing Emi so happy in her room with her nice stuff in there, playing with her toys, reading her books…Then you feel guilty and then you feel lucky because you could have it so much worse. I constantly think about those who have lost everything. There are too many of them, this has gone on way too long…
It was a quiet night, more or less. A couple of brief air raid sirens. Slept for about 2 hours, woke up at 1am and tried to read/write but couldn’t concentrate much.
Day 3
It was Olya’s grandmother’s 90th birthday, so we spent the day at her aunt’s dacha outside Kyiv (Olya hadn’t arrived in Kyiv yet, she’d arrive a few days later) and it was wonderful to see Emi spending time with her grandfather, great-granny, aunt and cousin in the fresh air, with scrumptious fresh cucumbers and tomatoes (they’re almost tasteless in Vienna) and delicious barbecue.
Day 4
A bit of a balancing act on this trip so far. I have much to do, but also my darling little daughter to entertain, so it was a bit of back and forth between the other side of Kyiv, across the river (the left bank) where Emi’s grandpa lives, and the centre (the right bank) where I had my business to conduct.
So I don’t repeat myself here, if you haven’t already, please go back and [re]read this post, where I also share the story of almost losing my wallet at the end of this day:
Day 5/6 (Sat/Sun) – onwards
Now things get hazy and more hectic. I stopped taking notes at this point. It was a weekend mainly with Emi and catching up with some friends (including more great pizza at Food Spot, with Marina and Yura), spending time with grandpa, some time in a housing area called Comfort Town (Kyivites will know this quite well), where Emi’s kindergarten used to be and where we spent so much time eating ice cream and hanging out in the playgrounds and cafés here up until Feb 2022.
Small world: at Chelm train station in Poland, on the way here, we bumped into Oksana, who was the director of Emi’s kindergarten. What are the chances?
Day 7 (Monday)
Met a couple of journalists/book bloggers on this trip for networking and feedback. Was a bit persistent with one or two, others were more forthcoming. Had some promising chats (I think).
My first event! Urban Space 500 – how many people came? 25? 30? (I think closer to 25) I was happy with the turnout, but…(there’s always a but).
I don’t want to upset anyone, this is a journal and here are some reflections…thank you, thank you, thank you to all of those who came and supported me and asked great questions and bought my book (and even multiple copies). So lovely to see so many people. Some people promised to come and did. Some didn’t. Hey, that’s life, I get it. It’s not an easy time either in Kyiv, to put it mildly. Many who never said a word showed up – such a pleasant surprise! A couple of new readers I’d never met showed up (thank you to my former colleague Tamara for helping promote this – she’s directly responsible for 7 book sales). I had fun, but I think my daughter stole the show as she clamoured for attention (she’s a natural actress).
Day 8
Day 9
My final evening in town, and a lovely way to wrap up. An intimate gathering of some of my most dedicated readers and students at a small bookshop called Plekay, where I enjoyed some tomato beer (it wasn’t bad, trust me).
Great, warm chats, hugs, nostalgia, goodbyes…
Day 10
This trip, book-wise, ended on a positive note. I had lovely interactions with people at various bookshops (not just the ‘big three’, but others as well) and was feeling cautiously optimistic about things. I decided within a few days of this trip that I was coming back for another one. I was enjoying being in Kyiv too much, realised how much I missed it, how I needed more time to properly set up events. Doing things the old-fashioned way, in person, seemed more promising than firing off countless emails (once again, none of these puns are intended, and none of my words are meant to be witty or funny).
Our overnight train to Lviv, Emi was thrilled to be on the top bunk. She’d been missing her bunk bed in Kyiv as well.
Early morning arrival, the train bang on time, with 80 minutes to wait for our bus to Katowice. Raining heavily, which is not ideal when you’re unsure of where to catch your bus. We waited, as it turned out, in the wrong spot and luckily a very kind and gracious young man offered to help, and he tracked down the area where our bus was to leave from. We’re lucky it was late, otherwise we might have missed it. He was a university student, studying English, so of course as a thank you I offered him my book and he seemed delighted with it.
To break up the trip, we had a night in Katowice, a small room in a hostel (with a bunk bed) close to both the bus and train stations for our 4.53am departure back to Vienna the following morning.
And now, for a dramatic, epic dash to the train station
The details here are crucial to appreciating the full story.
Everything was prepared, our bags were packed and ready to go. According to Google maps, we were a 9-minute walk to the train station. But with a groggy 6-year-old in the wee hours of the morning, and two extremely heavy suitcases and rucksacks (we had A LOT of books we were bringing back), and a winding narrow staircase and no lift in our hostel, 9 minutes would in reality be more like 20. At least 20.
My alarm was set for 4.00. Plenty of time I figured. We’d get up, get dressed, get to the station in plenty of time and hope there was somewhere to grab a pastry and a coffee.
I’m not a great sleeper at the best of times, and if I have an early departure in the morning, my chances of sleeping well are close to zero. I’m terrified my alarm won’t go off, which is pretty irrational because it usually always does. (yes, that’s right – usually always)
Well…
I was lying in bed, wondering what time it was, when I checked my phone: 4.37.
16 minutes until departure!
Well…
Even now as I write this, I can feel my heart pounding and my stomach in knots. We were not going to make that train.
But we had to make that train. We were due back in Vienna at 10.00. I then had to be back at the train station around 14.00 to drop Emi off with her grandmother for her trip to Germany (this kid is quite the traveller – after a few days in Germany with her aunt and uncle, she was off to Mallorca; some life, eh?)
We were really cutting it close, but we had faith in the Polish and Austrian rail services to get us to our destinations on time (not a good idea).
My back and shoulders were already aching from all the heavy bag carrying. But I temporarily forgot all of that as I jumped out of bed, woke Emi up and said, calmly but assertively: “Emi darling, wake up, come on, we have to hurry, let’s get dressed.” I was worried she could hear the panic and quivering in my voice.
I’m nowhere near the best father in the world, but I try to do my best. There are certain things I always try to do and plenty of things I probably fail to do. I’m only human.
After all was said and done, Emi told me that I wasn’t panicking at all, and that I was so calm and relaxed. On the inside, I was freaking out and my heart was practically popping out of my chest. On the outside, I was as cool as a cucumber.
Racing through my head: “my in-laws are going to kill me…”
We had 16 minutes to get to the train, which is tight under normal circumstances: on your own, with no heavy bags, walking at a comfortable, steady pace.
We threw on our clothes and rucksacks, grabbed the two suitcases, plus the extra bag with snacks and water and hair supplies (not mine) and lumbered down the stairs. Already I could feel the pain in my shoulders, neck and back. Emi was still half asleep. I was way too alert.
We had no choice but to run. We got outside, dashed across the street, cut through the park and were soon on the main road that would lead to the station.
We were perhaps 2-3 minutes into the journey and I was struggling mightily. Emi was stumbling and tripping, trying to get herself coordinated.
The importance of being FULLY prepared
Yes, I’d mapped the 9-minute route on Google maps…sort of. Things are not necessarily as straightforward as you’d expect though. There are various roads branching off the main street and different options you can take, and a less-than-ideal choice might add another minute or two to the journey. This was a luxury we could not afford. We had to be direct, but I wasn’t sure of the exact side street to take, it wasn’t clear on the map.
Halfway down the street, I was close to giving up. The pain was excruciating. It had spread to my biceps, forearms, lower back, thighs. My lungs were on fire, I could barely breathe or speak. My throat was nothing but dust. I implored Emi to keep going but couldn’t get a word out. I don’t think I’d ever had such heavy suitcases – believe me, I’ve done a ton of travelling over the years. I don’t think any airlines would even allow us to check these in.
At some point, I decided to take a right turn, hoping it was the best option.
It was. Phew…what a relief. (Emi later asked me what relief meant – I retold her this story. She definitely won’t forget it.)
Nine minutes, says google…sixteen minutes from the moment I sprang out of bed…bags, a child, panic, fuzzy heads…it would take a minor miracle.
Not only was I too terrified to check my phone for the time, but I didn’t even have time to check the damn time.
We stumbled into the station, the sweat pouring off, my clothes stuck to my skin, a frog in my desert of a throat, my lungs burning, unable to swallow or speak…Emi was remarkably steady at this point, only mildly worried, unwisely putting her faith in her dear, well-prepared father.
I looked up at the departure board and couldn’t see our train or platform. My vision was hazy, I had trickles of sweat stinging my eyes. There was a man standing there looking at the board. I asked for help…
…but I couldn’t. I could only point to the departure board and with all my strength, what little I had left, I croaked out a rough ‘Platform?! Where?!’ and he pointed us in the right direction. We still had to motor it as fast as we could, time was ticking, just one last burst of adrenaline to get us to the finishing line…
…and we made it…we bounded onto the train and collapsed right inside, giving each other a high five. I had no voice, but I hugged Emi and rasped out a ‘well done, sweetheart, we made it’.
But talk about anti-climactic. I want to say that just as we boarded, the train pulled away and we realised we were just seconds away from missing it, but we sat there for another…3 minutes! And the train left right at its 4.53 scheduled time.
Incredibly, we made it there, from the time we woke up to the time we boarded, in a mere 13 minutes! Nine times out of ten, we miss that train.
But wait – there’s one last twist in the tale
Once we’d gathered our composure, we looked for our seats. Our compartment was dark, with the curtains drawn. We opened the door, turned on the lights, and sitting there were three rough looking students who looked like they had had quite the night and were still coming down from their clubbing highs. The man attempted to ‘help’ me with the heavier suitcase but was so uncoordinated and out of it that he could barely lift the damn thing and when he did – despite me imploring him not to and trying to grab it away from him – he almost dropped it on Emi’s head. I almost had to yell at him to sit down and leave us be, but I was still battling to get my voice back (the water I drank barely helped – I’d need some time to recover).
The two women sat there lifeless, not saying a word.
A few minutes later, the conductor came to check our tickets.
Surprise, surprise – they didn’t have any.
And a shouting match thus ensued. None of these straggly-looking youth spoke English, so their pleas for help went unheeded. But from the tone and volume of his voice and one or two recognisable words, I could tell what this guy was saying, and it wasn’t very nice. The conductor gave as good as he got. Another conductor arrived. More shouting. The women piped up and said something. They had no tickets, no money, no IDs (apparently). I heard ‘politsia’ mentioned a couple of times and then the conductor radioed for further assistance. A minute or two later, we came to the next station.
And sat there for 15-20 minutes while the police got involved.
There was more shouting, finger pointing, accusations, swearing, and the guy kept looking to me for some kind of help. What the hell was I supposed to do? Emi sat there in silence, probably still recovering from our morning of stimulating exercise.
I was desperate for a coffee.
One of the women looked at us and muttered, “sorry,” but she didn’t seem too genuine.
At long last, after names and details were taken, we continued along, but thankfully, these ruffians left our carriage and we were left in peace for a few stops until other, more well-behaved, passengers joined us.
We got back to Vienna only a few minutes late and Emi made it in plenty of time for her train to Germany.
Coming soon, part II
The adventures continue, in part two, my return to Ukraine just over one week later. That was a trip that got off to a great start but then quickly went downhill, ending with a missed bus and then with sombre news, including a dreadful mistake by your dear author that will possibly haunt my daughter for life. Stay tuned for that tale.
Check me out on Instagram for more photos from book events in Kyiv: @doctorputzo
Breathtaking story!