Пжсть, Що and Бълын.

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Kyiv has been busy but peaceful in the time since I last wrote, and the still air each morning has become cold enough to pinch my lungs as I push open the heavy metal door and leave my building. The city is gradually beginning to feel like home, and there is even a positive side to my claustrophobic journey to work on the number 439 marshrutka: the girl next to me was listening to Zemfira as we bumped along on Tuesday, and not all the bosoms which I get thrown between belong to middle-aged women.

Just as the time is approaching to think about finding a new flat I seem to be finally getting used to the old one. I am learning to pour the unused boiled water from the metal kettle into a large vase on the kitchen table to cool down, where it becomes the only water which is safe to drink.

I like the rustic feel to the flat, but feeling a bit more settled doesn't make me want to stay in the Vinohradar. It is awfully claustrophobic, the four of us trying to share a very small space, and the kvartal is an hour from the centre. The landlady from whom we all rent the rooms is horrid: she let herself in while we were all out one day, ate some of our food from the fridge, took a shower, and stole Ana's bottle of shampoo from the bathroom. Those are the people I have to brush shoulders with to lose my naivity, I suppose - those who have become too cynical and cunning for anyone else's own good.

We're looking for a new place from November, closer to the centre and with a television which we don't have to queue to watch.

My week at work started when The Law of Ukraine “On Amendments to the Land Code of Ukraine Regarding Prohibition of Agricultural Land Sale Prior to Adoption of Respective Legislative Acts" for a farm within the Velykobagachanskyy District State Administration of Poltava oblast' landed on my desk on Monday morning, and ended on Friday afternoon with me quite unable to keep my eyes open. Ana had a tough week too, so I tried to cheer her up by buying her some roses on the way home from work. Apparently giving an even number of flowers is bad luck, so my request for six was met with an odd sort of glance by the man in the kiosk. The seven which I managed to negotiate buying - in Ukrainian, no less! - now make our room look a bit prettier. They say everyone here becomes emotional in the autumn because the weather changes so quickly; I'll take each of my tantrums and sulks as a sign that I'm adapting.

The employees of the law firm went ten-pin bowling on Saturday morning. It was the first time I had gone and, I'm sure, the first time the gorgeous secretary had ever worn flat stripey shoes with yellow laces. When we arrived at 10.30 our tables were already covered with a buffet of cheese, meat, juice, bread and salad. We could all still taste the toothpaste when the waitress asked "would you like your beer now or will you wait until the first game?" - I suppose that's what Ukrainians would call a rhetorical question. Many more were downed before lunchtime, and after a fantastic few games getting to know so many new people, I spent the rest of the day trying to hide from Ana how drunk I was. Not convincingly, as a matter of fact.

We stumbled upon a rock concert on Khreshchatik that night, with me doing most of the stumbling. From there we bought ice-cream and big cans of cheap, fruit-flavoured wine, sat on a bench and listened to the guitars and lovesickness of "Melodies of the Heart Project" from afar.

There was a parliamentary election last week but, as opposed to the riots that I had been promised, it all happened rather peacefully. That isn't to say it wasn't controversial: two parties each gained about 33%!o(MISSING)f the votes, one led by Viktor Yanukovich (or "the bandit" as Ana's dad calls him) and the other by Yuliya Tymoshenko, whose hairstyle attracts more attention than her policies. They hate each other but must bicker over a coalition, and everyone apart from those in Parliament (the Verkhovna Rada) themselves has an opinion on how best to do it. It is accepted that whatever move parliament takes will result in a further step away from Russia; the Kremlin, still never shy to put Ukraine down 16 years after it became independent, reacted to the elections by demanding the full payment of their gas bill ($1.3 billion) within the next month, as if to remind them that they are still more reliant on Russia than most people would like.

The Kyiv confusion

When the people of Kyiv speak russkii, they do it in their own way. You could say their speech reflects their outlook on life - very quiet and with the minimum of fuss. 'Pozhaluista' becomes pzhst when you're saying a hushed "please" to the stern ladies sitting behind the small windows of sweets kiosks, or "you're welcome" to trolleybus change-takers. They keep the Ukrainian shcho? instead of 'chto?', which I've taken to doing as well. The Russian sound Г has softened into 'h', so more often than not "are you hungry?" and "are you cold?" sound almost the same. This hasn't posed a problem for me so far, as for the last few days the answer to both questions has always been an emphatic Da.

My favourite part of Kyiv Russian is their fondness for saying the word for 'pancake' at the end of sentences to stop themselves from swearing, ("blin", as in sh-sugar): they step onto the street from a warm office and say "brrrrrr, coldpancake!", or turn over a price label and say "oyy, expensivepancake!". I've started to say it too when something annoys me, but I can never do it with the same passion as the rest.

People in Kyiv are complicated; with a history of such greatness, conflict and oppression, it's understandable. They are proud, too: Kyiv was once home to an empire, and the magnificent cathedral and monastery remain in the high city to remind them of Kievan Rus'. They also wriggled away from three centuries of abuse by Russia quite recently, and a sense of what it means to be Ukrainian is evolving. I saw in the streets outside the football stadium last week how much people here want their town to be taken seriously by the rest of Europe, and how many are wishing for EU membership to come sooner rather than later.

With pride comes vanity. Young people are obsessed with their looks: bright lipstick, a colourful trendy coat, sequinned tight jeans and high-heels for girls, a macho leather jacket and jeans for boys. For young (and not-so-young) couples Khreshchatik is their catwalk. Even during the evening rush hour scrum between the platforms in Lev Tolstoi Square metro no-one ever has a tie loosened, or a hair out of place. Kievlyan'e are charmingly fashionable.

I join in with the attention-seeking, but Ana sees a different side to everything, and to everyone. She hasn't been as lucky as I have been with the people she has found herself in the middle of: her diary would make a very different read to mine, and a much more challenging one. She saw the 'two-facedness' of people here when looking for a job, and also how other people's feelings and possessions aren't respected. It makes communicating with her absolutely impossible sometimes because - be it a good thing or bad - I just haven't seen enough of the cruel side to Ukraine yet to be able to empathise.

That isn't to say I haven't seen any of the country's faults yet. The incurably vain spend their evenings rubbing shoulders with the dishonestly wealthy at the 'Arena City' entertainment complex, opposite Bessarabskii market at one end of Khreshchatik. It's a decadent courtyard of fountains, flashing American logos, bouncers in tuxedos and 'VIP lounges', and is home to the other type of Kyiv couple, the rich, sixtysomething businessman and the teenage blonde. It's the Ukrainian take on Monte Carlo or Las Vegas, but it feels sadly hollow. It's a shame that the few people here who have any money can't spend it with any class.

I miss the beauty of Russian towns. I miss having space to walk around in and the freedom to take photos. Maybe I'll find it when the snow comes, which people are saying won't be long. I want to find somewhere to escape to for a weekend, away from the commute and the concrete - maybe that will be the cure for the winter blues.

Next diary: The Azeri food experiment.

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Photos

Old architecture reflected in a new window. Yaroslaviv Val.
Kyiv.

Two of the founders of Kyiv - Princes Shchek and Horyv - in front of a poster advertising a mobile phone company.
Kyiv.

View from my kitchen.
Kyiv.

Support for Yuliya Tymoshchenko, leading up to the parliamentary elections.
Kyiv.

Pigeons on an old church.
Kyiv.

Statues to three Kievan Saints, in the courtyard of Mihailovskii Monastery.
Kyiv.

Comments

[CatBrook]

Great writing
Hi Jonathan, I've just read your blogs from the beginning and really enjoyed them, you write so vividly and with all your senses which is a rare talent....i'll look forward to more, Cat