Neela shook my hand, told me she was pleased to meet me and asked me to follow her. As I’d just arrived at the airport and she was my tour guide I did as I was told. Once outside the main entrance, she pointed vaguely at some vehicles in the distance. Our coach is over there, she said, and disappeared back into arrivals to round up more passengers.
I took it from this that she wanted me to make my own way to the coach, even though I hadn’t yet spotted it, though I’d managed to make out a car park on the other side of a very busy road. There’s an art to crossing roads abroad which involves waiting for a local to cross (preferably someone in their thirties and sound of limb) and then crossing with them and staying, as far as possible, on the opposite side of them to the approaching traffic. The main advantage of this is that they’re used to the direction of the traffic and at what speed it’s likely to be going, to which they adjust their pace accordingly.
This technique is not as easy outside an airport as you’re not so sure who’s local and who isn’t. I didn’t want my first visit to Kiev to be ruined by trying to cross with a passing Spaniard who might get us both run over. After a minute or two, however, a whole group of people had gathered on the edge of the road and by some un-communicated impulse we exercised pedestrian power en masse and reached the other side in safety.
Having found the coach there was nothing much else to do but find a seat and watch other people negotiating the road crossing which, now I’d managed it successfully, took on a slightly comical aspect. This culminated in a rather spectacular dash by the luggage porters with a trolley piled high that wobbled alarmingly and threatened to throw our suitcases at the mercy of the Kiev traffic.
Somehow everybody and everything made it safely to the coach, last of all Neela who was satisfied that everyone who should be was now on board with their possessions. We set off and were soon travelling through the suburbs of the mainly residential side of the city which consisted largely of tower blocks, though not unpleasant ones.
Soon we were on a bridge crossing the river Dnepr which we were going to see a great deal of over the next 12 days. It more or less splits the country in two, flowing roughly from north to south down the middle and making its exit into the Black Sea. It flows through the Chernobyl region in the north before it reaches Kiev. Chernobyl is where the biggest nuclear accident to date took place in 1986 and its legacy is still in effect. No-one drinks the water from the Dnepr – everyone drinks bottled water to this day. It’s also recommended not to eat fish from the river, though we saw numerous locals catching trout and perch, presumably not just for sport.
There’s no external threat to health in visiting Kiev and there are even coach trips to Chernobyl to view the streets that were abandoned on the day of the accident. I was quite happy that this wasn’t on our itinerary and indeed that we would be travelling in the opposite direction - I must confess that where nuclear fallout is concerned, I‘m a bit of a coward. Kiev itself was fortunate that when the accident happened the wind was blowing northwards, across mainly uninhabited areas, and therefore avoided a major catastrophe. For the record, the word Chernobyl means ‘black grass’ and not ‘wormwood’ as is often thought – either way it’s a bit spooky.
We arrived at the riverside for our embarkation onto the MSV Marshall Rybalko, the boat that was to be our home for the duration of our stay. The boat was very similar to the one I’d travelled on between St.Petersburg and Moscow, which immediately brought back memories of that trip and put me in a good frame of mind. As we were queuing up to cross the gangplank we were greeted by a woman wearing a traditional costume and holding an extremely large loaf of bread. The loaf was circular, like a big Edam cheese and had a slight hollow at its centre into which salt had been poured. The idea was to tear off a chunk, dip it in the salt and eat it, thereby accepting the hospitality of our hosts according to Ukrainian custom. Personally, I’d have preferred a beer.
After a night of re-acquainting myself with the fact that beds on boats are designed only for the very small, I emerged onto the Kiev riverside at 8.30, as instructed by Neela, expecting to find a coach to take us for the city tour. There were several coaches, each with a sign in the front indicating Gruppe 1,
Gruppe 2 and so on. Gruppe is the German word for group and there were indeed lots of Germans wandering about and gradually filling up these coaches.Unfortunately there were no coaches with a sign indicating that it was meant for an English group and Neela was no-where to be seen. She’d given us the German arrangements by mistake – our coach wasn’t due until 9.00. This was to turn out to be somewhat characteristic of the whole trip – slightly disorganised, though not unpleasantly so. By the end I had begun to wonder whether this was a Ukrainian trait, perhaps indicative of a country that’s coming out of the doldrums but which hasn’t quite got its act together yet.
Eventually our group assembled on the later coach and set off along a busy street. We had about ten Americans on board too, by grace of the fact that they speak roughly the same language and that they probably wouldn’t have hit it off very well with the Germans.
Before long we were crawling round the streets of the Podil area causing intermittent outbreaks of road rage. This is the area which surrounds the main part of the city, but is too close to it to be called the suburbs. The main part is on the top of a hill, Podil is at the bottom – the word literally means skirt. Here are some of the oldest and more humble dwellings in the city, though their proximity to the centre now makes them very desirable. Most of the ordinary population live across the river in the tower blocks we’d passed on the way from the airport.
We then made our way uphill, but before going to the centre we took a detour which would take us to the main vantage point over the city. It’s in an area of park land which is dominated by a large and rather curious structure known as the friendship arch. It was built to celebrate the Soviet partnership between Russia and the Ukraine and is a major reminder, if any were needed, of the Communist era. Rather more pleasingly, the view of the city and river from here is excellent and enabled us to get our bearings and numerous photographs on what was an equally pleasingly sunny day.
Neela, like all guides from this part of the world it seems, was extremely knowledgeable and spoke English very well. She is native to Kiev and talked at length about the history of her city which goes back some 1500 years. The Kiev Rus were at the beginnings of Russia’s origins, the people who ruled a large area from here and gave their name to a future country. The battles with Turks, Lithuanians and Poles over the centuries saw the country occupied and divided many times before it became part of the Soviet Union.
After this mini lecture we continued out tour, now driving into the centre of the city. What happened next was to be the main eye-popping moment of the whole trip. As we came down an ordinary looking street and turned a corner a large open square appeared before us and at the end was Kiev’s most spectacularly coloured church. The walls are nearly Wedgwood blue, probably a bit darker, and crowned with a series of golden domes which were almost dazzling in the bright sunshine.
This is St Mikhayil’s Monastery of the Golden Domes and as we saw it the whole coach erupted in a series of ‘oohs and aahs’, normally associated with firework displays. The blueness of it against the now much deeper blue of the sky and with the gold domes in between make it one of those sights that captivate westerners; I suppose the locals get used to these buildings, much in the way that we do with ours, but I’m sure that the average St. Mary’s just doesn’t compare.
The coach stopped and we all got out to look at what was evidently a larger building than had at first appeared. The front walls were a gatehouse which led through into the grounds in which the main church stood. As we were walking in, Neela stopped us by some images and words that had been mounted on boards on one of the outer walls.
We were about to learn of something that’s largely unknown to the average westerner. In the years of 1932-33 Stalin conducted a deliberate famine in the Ukraine to force the farmers into collectivisation and to break a renaissance of Ukrainian culture that was occurring at that time. The procurement quota of grain for the Ukraine was increased to 44% by the Soviets, knowing that this would result in a shortage for the people – there was not enough left to feed themselves. This was enforced by troops and police and any peasant found trying to hide grain was arrested. This directly resulted in the deaths of between 7 and 10 million people from starvation which is now regarded by the Ukrainians as their own holocaust. The images on the wall are a graphic representation in memory of this.
This knowledge somewhat tempered my appreciation of the beauty of the church and somehow those so very blue walls took on a more melancholy air. We continued through the gatehouse and on to have a look inside the church. It wasn’t actually that big inside, and was the usual highly coloured mixture of icons, frescos and candles. On this occasion however, there were a number of old, headscarf-clad women eyeing us a little impatiently and watching us wherever we went. This is unusual in my experience of Orthodox churches which usually allow you to wander in and look round as you please without anyone taking any notice. This even seems to apply in the middle of weddings and funerals, as long as you don’t disturb the proceedings. Perhaps the fear of terrorism had now spread to Kiev, or perhaps they were just waiting for the window cleaner to turn up.
En route to our next stop we travelled along the city’s main street called Khreschatyk. It’s a very long street and, like much of the city, was heavily bombarded in WW2, and was rebuilt by the Soviets with much pomp. There are many impressive looking buildings and, in the main square, a monument to independence can be found along with a modern underground shopping centre and what the locals refer to as the American Embassy – McDonalds.
Before we finished our morning tour with a visit to another church, we stopped off to change our money to its Ukrainian equivalent, the hrivna. This was a rather strange experience, as for some reason the exchange office was situated inside a chemist’s shop. The sight of 40 or so tourists all queuing to go into the pharmacy must surely provoke amusement among the locals – it certainly did with me when I’d finished and could view it for myself.
St Andrei’s church awaited us, which we only had time to view from the outside. It sits at the end of a street that sports quite plush looking art shops on one side and a great row of souvenir stalls on the other. I don’t think it was a coincidence that we’d been taken to change our money immediately before. First we admired the church, this time a sea-green colour, which sits on top of a great flight of steps and is topped by a baroque dome. It was designed by the Italian architect Rastrelli, whose most famous work in Russian parts is the winter palace in St Petersburg. For some reason after he’d built this church Catherine the Great fired him. Perhaps she didn’t like steps.
After running the gauntlet of the souvenir stalls, some with more success than others, we returned to our boat for lunch which turned out to be, in accordance with Ukrainian habit, the largest meal of the day. Four courses were served, usually starting with some sort of salad and followed by the ubiquitous Borscht. There seem to be as many recipes for this famous soup as there are people; one day it can be almost clear with only a few vegetables for company, the next it’ll be almost like a major stew packed with fish or meat and small dumplings. The third course was often either pork or fish and the last the sweet offering, by which time I had usually waved a white handkerchief at the waiter.
In the afternoon we paid a visit to one of the major sights (and sites) in Kiev, the Pechersky Lavra, or Caves Monastery. It covers a large area and consists of two main areas with parkland in between. We visited the upper part of the site, which is on a hill overlooking the river, known as the near caves, as opposed to the far caves which are at the foot of the hill.
In most ways it’s very much like the monastery sites that I visited in Russia, only bigger. There is a mixed collection of churches and living quarters, a large bell tower and attractive gardens. You’ll probably guess that the clue to what makes this one a little different is in its name.
Back in 1051 St Anthony of Lyubech settled in Kiev and chose to live on the banks of the river in a man-made cave. Gradually, and with the help of a growing band of disciples, an extensive underground network was built where the monks would spend entire lifetimes meditating and praying. When they died they were laid to rest deep in the network of caves and nearly a thousand years later their bodies are still there, wrapped simply in cloth and open to the air, yet preserved without any form of embalming.
Needless to say, the legend of the preserved bodies quickly gained miracle status and to this day the monastery is still a site of pilgrimage and the spiritual centre of the Ukraine. Over 100,000 pilgrims come here each year, apart from the tourists.
The Soviets made a scientific study of the caves to provide a rational explanation for the preserved bodies and concluded that a total lack of moisture in the air prevented decay. They obviously wanted to debunk any spiritual association with the caves but judging by the numbers visiting here again today, the legend far from died, even in the height of Communism.
One story goes that the Soviet scientists wanted to take the bodies away for examination. They were loaded onto a lorry which from that point onwards refused to start. The bodies and the lorry sat there for three weeks, the engine resisting all attempts at repair. Eventually they gave up and took the bodies back to the caves, whereupon the driver was able to start his vehicle again with no trouble.
The churches and buildings that sprung up on the ground above the caves range in date from 11th to 18th century. They are very beautiful and worth visiting for their own sake, but it’s the caves that most people come to see. We went in through an entrance in one of the buildings where, as is customary, we each bought a candle (they cost only a penny) and then negotiated a series of stairs and tunnels down to the caves, now lit only by our own little flames.
When you get down there you find a series of chambers and corridors where every now and then you’ll come upon a preserved monk, all now placed additionally inside glass-topped caskets, so you can see that they are indeed still preserved. The one exception to this is one chamber which you can’t enter, but look at only through a hole in the wall. This is alleged to contain St Anthony himself, along with a few of his chums, still lying side by side as they were originally placed. It’s very dark, though you can make out five body shaped outlines in the gloom, but I’m not sure even Anthony’s own family would recognise him.
Miracles are supposed to take place down here, usually to do with curing the sick, but as far as I was concerned the main miracle was that no-one set fire to anyone else with their candles. The health and safety people in Western countries would have an absolute fit if they were to see this. Lots of people tightly packed into narrow tunnels below ground, each holding a lighted candle. Obviously the preservation extends to visitors and prevents any nasty accidents. There are too many people down there for it to be spooky, but it still has an atmosphere which is hard to pinpoint. I should imagine it’s like watching a horror film in a pub full of people (slightly drunk) – what you’re looking at is very scary, but you somehow feel entirely safe.
This busy day was the first of two in Kiev, but our second day in the capital would not be until the end of our trip around the country. That evening, as we sat down to eat once more, the boat set sail along the Dnepr on our long voyage down to the Black Sea. There was a great deal to be seen before we set eyes on the hills of Kiev once more.
Kiev | Zaporizhia | Odessa | Sevastopol | Yalta | The Dnepr | Return to Kiev
