But on a more positive note, I have a finished craft project to share. A few months ago, I stumbled upon this site with a crochet pattern for mini safety cones. My first thought was that they were the most adorable things I’d ever seen. And then I started reading about how people associate these orange cones with safety and protection. I realized that after a year and a half in Kyiv, my associations are totally different. Here, orange cones are either used to designate where one should not park - there’s absolutely no authority associated with this; it’s often business owners trying to keep cars off the sidewalks in front of their shops - or I’ve also seen them used by the traffic police as just another way to extract bribes. And I realized that Ukrainian orange cones would not be the happy-go-lucky cones that the pattern shows. They would be cranky…surly, even. And so I present to you, Surly Ukrainian Traffic Cones:

Aren’t they cute? In their own cranky post-Soviet sort of way?

This guy was next. Cool? Yes. But how many trees had to die in order to construct him? The stump that he’s resting on had been there the entire time we’ve lived here. But I guess it needed to be jazzed up. By the way, the cart he’s pulling is currently holding a small Christmas tree. Very festive.

And the latest installment…

Again, she’s perched on top of the stump of the tree that was removed, rather than turning the stump itself into art. And as you can see, the tree art has become multi-media. Her tutu is made out of chicken wire and I’m not sure what her hair is. I was pretty sure it was going to get disgusting the first time it rained or snowed, but it’s held up fairly well.

The story behind this one is actually kind of cute. A day or two after they cut down the tree that used to be in it’s place, a note was left on the stump. Roughly translated, it said: “Please make this one a ballerina because I love ballerinas.” This isn’t exactly the land of people who appreciate suggestions, so I figured that was a waste of paper. But sure enough, several weeks later, she appeared. And the next day there was a note left saying: “Thank you very much!”

In Kyiv, this time of year is the time of falling chestnuts. Something like 80% of the trees in Kyiv are chestnut trees, so that’s a lot of nuts. And they seem to fall 4 or 5 at a time, so you’ve really got to watch out. I saw a woman take a serious blow to the head last week. The really strange thing is that people here don’t seem to eat chestnuts.  When the apple trees lose their fruit, you see plenty of babushky picking them up and selling them on street corners. But there are currently millions of chestnuts on the ground here, and no one pays a bit of attention. No chestnuts roasting on open fires or anything. You would think there would even be some sort of special Kyiv dish with chestnuts - they’re so into that sort of thing here. Like chestnut dumplings with sour cream and dill. Yeah. That would be Chestnut Kyiv.

It all started mid-afternoon when I started smelling smoke. And not the usual, someone is standing right outside our apartment chain-smoking smoke, but more of a something is seriously on fire smoke. After verifying that the smell was not coming from our building, I assumed that it was probably just a dumpster fire. But then I looked outside and saw that the air seemed to be pretty full of smoke. And then I heard sirens, which (oddly enough) is not a common occurrence here, despite the fact that we live a block away from a fire station. So it was time for Laika and I to investigate.

By the time we got outside, the air was so full of smoke that it looked like a dense fog had rolled in. Not really having any idea where the fire was at, we picked a random direction and started heading around the block. About halfway around, we heard two explosions. Not huge ones, but big enough to be called explosions. Finally, about three-quarters of the way around the block, we found our first fire truck. And our first fire fighter who looked totally calm as he jotted a few notes on his clipboard. So I assumed the fire was over and he was working on his report. As we turned to where I could see another fire truck, I realized that guy was maybe just trying to get out of doing any actual fire fighting because the fire was in no way over.

I finally got to about half a block away from the building that must have been totally engulfed in flames by this point (I couldn’t actually see it as it was set off the street through a gate) and found two more fire trucks. And some serious smoke pouring into the sky. Mind you, I think I could have totally just walked up to the site of the fire since there was no one doing any sort of crowd control, but I decided to play it safe and stay where I was.

Which was good, because at that point I got to see a fire fighter running down the street toward the fire carrying buckets of water. I kid you not. Buckets. Of water.

That explains so many things.

I headed back home then because, really, it wasn’t going to get any better than that. But I went out a few hours later and got this picture of one of the fire trucks.

I wanted to get a picture of the actual building that burned down, but a day later they had it all locked off so that no one could get to it. Since I had kind of expected to see children playing in the smoldering ruins, I was pretty shocked by the attempt at security. Next time I’ll know to just run up and take the shot while they’re throwing the buckets of water on the fire.

The weather changed dramatically here over the weekend, as a reminder that summer is officially over. Which means we’ve made it through summer number two here! Unfortunately, it only reminds me that we still have to make it through winter number two…

We took Laika out to the parking lot behind our building yesterday to play frisbee. Apparently she finds the crisp autumn air rejuvenating.

And I’m a little behind in discussing it, but August 24th was Ukrainian Independence Day. The President decided to stage a huge military parade in downtown Kyiv in part to display Ukrainian military might to Russia. A little warning, if you will, in case they decide to move in here next. So after a week of traffic jams in downtown Kyiv while 90 or so tanks practiced driving in formation and hearing military jets practicing fly-bys above our apartment, we decided that we needed to see this parade for ourselves. Unfortunately, most of Ukraine also showed up, so we didn’t have a very good view of the Ukrainian military prowess. Here are a few photos, though. Most of them are hazy because as soon as the first tanks started rolling through, the air was immediately filled with diesel fumes. Lovely.

So on the way back in, I suddenly heard a ruckus in front of our building. The blind guy that lives in our neighborhood was trying to walk down our street.

(Aside: Sometimes I see people in Kyiv, like our blind neighbor, and I just want to go up to them and ask, “how?” How do you live here where just being slightly different is enough to get you glared down in the street? And then deal with all the craziness that is Kyiv while also dealing with being who you are? But I don’t stop and ask. I just wonder about it. Mostly because I can’t say any of that in Russian.)

So anyway, he’s walking down the street swinging his white cane from side to side, as usual, and hitting a car every few feet. So it’s all CLUNK (building). CLUNK (car). CLUNK (fence). CLUNK (car). He finally gets to the end of the third car in a row and totally loses it. I watch (silently cheering in my head) as he raises his cane above his head and starts violently beating the hood of the third car. CLUNK! CLUNK! CLUNK! CLUNK! Car alarm. Then he puts his cane back to the sidewalk, and calmly continues on.

Score one for “the little guy.”

When I went to pull my apartment keys out of my bag, I found that the zipper I know I had closed before leaving the gym was now open. I truly hope that my shouts of “No, no, no!” on the stairwell echoed as dramatically in real life as they did in the ongoing drama in my head. Because I knew what I was going to find. Or not find as the case was. My wallet and cell phone were gone. Luckily, the (insert expletive here) jerk that took them didn’t have time to dig around in the pocket they were in and find the envelope containing 180 US Dollars. So all he got was about $15 in local currency. And my phone. My pretty T-Mobile pink with the orchid wall paper phone. With all my phone numbers in it. Grr.

I have to say that when you’ve reached the point where about 90% of your feelings about a place are negative, something like this does not help the situation. And I keep running through all the things I should have done differently. Why did I get on the stupidly overcrowded bus? I’m normally so overly aware of my surroundings - what happened this morning? And now I’m going to be in the monthly security report that’s normally full of all the dumb Americans I make fun of. Can I get that humble pie “a la mode”?

As a side note on Ukrainian culture: I find it amusing that in the article they mention that “Live and Let Die” received the biggest reaction along with it’s pyrotechnics display. I cannot even start to explain how much they love pyrotechnics here. Honest to god, there are fireworks in the city at least once a week - often just a few blocks from our apartment, where there happens to be a large open space. Before we moved here, our cat was absolutely terrified of fireworks. Now they start up on, say, a random Tuesday evening, and she doesn’t even flinch.

We did make it down to Maidan yesterday to see the leftover carnage from the concert. (There’s a lot of grass that needs to be replanted…I’m sure they’ll get right on that.) Apparently it was freak-show day on Kreshatik. Anybody with a saxophone, microphone, random carnival game, or gospel to spout had set up camp along the street. I managed to snap a couple photos to share:

There’s nothing quite like a pudgy juggler. He should have shelled out the money for a clown costume - it seems appropriate. When we walked up he had started trying the trick where he would stop juggling and freeze in place until someone dropped money in his bucket. A common technique of street performers in the US, however, here the crowd just started wandering off, confused. We also wondered what the caricatures around his platform were all about. Perhaps if the juggling wasn’t going well, he would do your picture?

Captain Jack here had quite a crowd gathered. I was disappointed for a second time this weekend when I got close enough to see that it wasn’t actually Johnny Depp. The next thing I noticed was the funny little zebra car he was standing next to. (Can you see the tail? I didn’t even notice that part until I uploaded the photos!) I’m not really sure how he and his gear could fit into such a small car. Or how far he could get in it. We listened to him until a couple of police officers showed up and made him stop. From what we could understand, they told him that he couldn’t be in the street. But as I mentioned, there were tons of other performers in the street. My guess is that, as is unfortunately often the case here, the Captain was a little too dark and ethnic-looking for the comfort of the officers. Wouldn’t want the freak show to get too freaky - there are comfort zones to think about.

Other random things seen on our walk: a saxophone player, playing “My Heart Will Go On” accompanied by what seemed to be a karaoke CD; a guy shouting some sort of religious dogma - it appeared a group of teenagers were preparing to beat him up as we walked by; the world’s worse caricaturist; a test of strength game; and two different knock-over-a-stack-of-bottles games (prize: $2 bottle of champagne!). It definitely had the feel of an impromptu carnival. It was, in a word, weird.

Yes, I’m probably a little too excited about this development. But just let me have the little things, okay? Somehow the fact that a coffee place has finally acknowledged that people might want to have coffee to go gives me hope that things are moving forward here. Slowly forward.