Brunch in Kyiv with Kartoshka

Brunch in Kyiv with Kartoshka

I rolled out of my apartment at three.  I decided to walk to my favourite restaurant and get some eggs.  It was a pleasant day.  The sun was shining.  The walk to the place would take about thirty minutes, which would give my body enough time to prepare for the food after a late night of drinking.  I had to walk down a hill, next to a busy road.  One of the main problems with Kiev during this time was the automobiles.  They stunk.  I don’t think the idea of catalytic converters was embraced under Soviet times and now, just a few years into post-Communist independence, no one apparently cared enough to change this technological deficiency.  The people were used to it I guess.  I remember hearing that when West Germany took in the East, the West phased out all the Soviet-era cars.  I think something like 80% of East Germany’s cars were outlawed.  It sounded crazy to me when I first heard it, but walking down this street on a beautiful day and only smelling toxic exhaust fumes, I understood what they were going after.  It all made sense now. 

Besides the aroma of the autos, everything else was fairly normal.  It was February and the street had a lot of sand on the shoulder and sidewalk from the winter snow.  The Ukrainians don’t salt their roads, they spray sand on them all winter long and it builds up so that at the end of winter, they then have to clean all the streets.  Since the snow had melted due to a short heat wave the previous week, the sand was now a few inches deep.    It was soft under my feet.  I walked down.  I passed an old man humbling up the hill.  He was old, tired, beaten by life.  When I walked past him, my eyes involuntarily stared down in front of me.  Once beyond him, I look up again, only when I was safe from confrontation.  I don’t know why I had such a hard time looking at the extreme poor, maybe I was scared.

This was the bar-

Once inside the restaurant, I sat down at the bar.  I didn’t think I wanted to drink and my body would have been better for it, but I ordered a Greyhound anyway.  It was Saturday, things would turn out to be ok.  I had the usual on my agenda, eat, maybe get drunk, walk back home and take a nap.  Who knew from there?  I really wasn’t interested in doing much else.  I liked it that way.  The weekdays I did things for others.  I had an office job- it was routine and consumed all my time.  On the weekends it was my time and I didn’t care about much- just as long as I wasn’t bothered by anyone.  Over the years, I realised that isolation was good for me and began to crave it.  Isolation let me see things about life that most people usually cannot.  Isolation also kept me from going nuts.  I don’t mean to imply that being alone will make one more aware.  Most people don’t see shit alone or with others.  They are not set up that way.  They just plod through their days and think they know what’s happening and how they look and where they are, but in reality they can’t figure out or see anything that’s really going on.  They embrace the routine and that somehow fulfils them as their lives pass by unnoticed.  They’re zombies.  I don’t like many people.  And fortunately I like myself, so I don’t care very much about what most others think. 

The restaurant was still packed when I got there even though it was late in the day.  It was Kiev’s only decent weekend brunch and all the ex-pat phonies kept walking through the door.  They would have these big toothy grins and scouring eyes.  “Hello, ohh hello, good to see you.  Hello...” I hated it, but I liked the place, it had energy and more importantly good American food.  Also, the girls that worked there were cute and they liked me for some reason.  Maybe it was because I stood out from the other foreigners who lived in the city.  As for the restaurant’s clientele, I am glad I managed to keep my distance with most of them.  In a city such as Kiev, the ex-pat groups were tight-knit.  Usually comprised of a lot of bland bankers, accountants, consultants, lawyers, government workers and the like.  I had managed to remain out of their circles for a decent time, they recognised me and I them, but we didn’t speak much.  If we did I probably wouldn’t be able to go to these places. 

The hostess today I liked.  I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her.  She was young, cute and petite.  I had seen her at a bar a week earlier and we got to talking.  She was from a small city three hours south of town.  A small town girl working in the city.  She had said that she hated cities, but needed the work and this job was the only one she could find.  There was something about small town girls that I liked.  They had an obscure innocence.  They’re usually sweet and a little crazy.  I liked that.  A girl needs to be a little crazy.  I need the spunk and unpredictability.  City girls think they know everything and make sure that you know that they think they know everything.  It can be hard dealing with their

arrogance at times.  I finished my meal, had a few more drinks, paid and started walking out.  As I passed the hostess, I stopped and looked at her.  I said goodbye and called her potato in Russian (kar-tosh-ka).  “Why kartoshka???” she asked.  “Because you’re my little Potato, we should go out for a drink sometime” was all I said.  She liked that.  She gave me her number.  I left.

###

Subscribe to my Blog by Email:  If you would like to receive an email letting you know when I post (usually around once a week), please send an email to: libertinereflections@gmail.com with the word "Subscribe" in the subject line and I'll add you to the list.  Thanks for your support!

###

The Bitterness of Disillusioned Youth

The Bitterness of Disillusioned Youth

“I’ve always been attracted to the bitterness of disillusioned youth.  There is something strangely alluring when I see someone at the onset of their life dispossessed of all optimism and hope.  They carry something so grotesquely honest around with them.  A realism that in an older being would be written off as cynicism, but since they are so strikingly young, their bitterness hits like an unexpected uppercut onto the very foundation of our moral, spiritual and societal norms and I want, maybe even need, to reach out and try to help them.”  I stopped talking and took a swig of my beer as Grasshopper, the barman, approached.  It wasn’t that I was hiding the discussion from him, I just didn’t want to trouble the guy with such heavy thoughts, especially on this subject. 

“Geez, did I interrupt?  I always hate it when the conversation stops just as I come into earshot- makes me feel uncomfortable.”  Grasshopper said.

I looked at Lloyd, one of the only regulars that always seems to be around and up for some banter.  I gave him a look not to say anything about heaviness of our conversation.  As usual, Lloyd understood and didn’t say a word.  While I needed some advice and wanted to strategize my next move, I didn’t want to trouble the Hopper.  I had heard that he has been going through a lot lately.  Someone left a couple crates of crappy LPs in the employee room that were getting in the way, the jukebox has been on the fritz for the last couple months, and the last soap order fell through the cracks and the bar was down to its last bag of the sudsy soap (among other tragedies).  He could easily take any of these things individually and deal with them, but all at once made it a crisis only slightly less disturbing than the Democrats being completely swept in the upcoming midterms.  In short, Grasshopper was struggling just as much as anyone else and I didn’t want to heap more crap on the guy’s already overburdened shoulders.

 

“You didn’t interrupt.  We were just shooting the breeze.  Lloyd thinks I should get my hair cut, but I’m thinking I will let it grow out for another month or so.  You know, times are a bit lean these days, I’m trying to cut back on my salon expenses.”  It was a beautiful piece of mental and verbal acrobatics to change the subject gracefully and naturally, and it achieved its intended result.  Who in the world could be interested in such a topic?

Grasshopper just shrugged and said, “Oh yes, you really need to rein in those salon expenses.  They’ll get you every time.”  

Behind this facade of jovial bar banter, my mind was still thinking about the bitterness of the young vixen I had recently met who immediately lassoed my heart with her dark view of the world.  She hated me of course, they all do, but I don’t get discouraged so easily and the seed that was planted upon our first meeting was already taking root. 

###

Interested in another, more hearty, love story run amok?  Check this one out…all the way from Moscow:

https://libertinereflections.blogspot.com/2017/12/plov-love-story.html

###

Making America Great Again at the La Casita Café

Making America Great Again at the La Casita Café

When Tyler Haase entered the La Casita Café his nerves overcame a simmering anger, but he was doing his best to look as calm as a country lake.  It was Sunday morning, just after eleven, and the café was packed.  La Casita was a popular brunch spot and there was a long wait-list with many groups milling around on the sidewalk in front of the place waiting for their name to be called.

Tyler knew this would be the case.  He had been to the café for brunch more than a few times of late.  He usually ordered their pancakes and would lounge about drinking multiple cups of their good coffee.  He had hoped to get there an hour earlier, before the morning rush hit full swing, but little things kept holding him up.  As he made his way through the throng of patrons, he was worried that he wouldn’t be able to find a seat at the counter, which was first come, first served. 

Once he got by the crowd at the door and host station, he couldn’t believe his eyes.  There was one unoccupied seat at an otherwise full breakfast counter, but it had a coat leaning over it.  It was the last seat against the wall on his left.  An uneasy smile broke across his stolid face and he moved toward it.  There were two dark haired women sitting at the counter next to the vacant seat.  As he nestled up behind them, he tapped the closest one on her left shoulder as gently as if he was popping a soap bubble.  She turned around with surprise, as she hadn’t see him approaching.  Her smiling face with the biggest brown eyes he had ever seen looked right into him.  He felt something quiver inside.

“Yes?”  She said.  He was still nervous and his face had a slight sheen of sweat.  She was unexpectedly stunning; it took time for him to overcome her unanticipated beauty.

“Uumm, is this seat free?”  He finally managed to get out.

“Oh, yes, please.  I probably shouldn’t have left my jacket there.”  The girl said as she moved her coat for him.  

“Thanks.”  Tyler said as he slipped off his backpack and put it down between the chair and the counter.  He then slid into the seat.

“The benefits of dining alone- you get to miss the waitlist.”  The girl said cheerfully.

“I guess it’s meant to be.” 

“You’re lucky- we waited thirty minutes before these seats opened up and the waitlist is an hour long.”  She said before turning back to her friend and resuming their conversation.  He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he didn’t really care to anyway.

The server behind the counter immediately came over once he was seated, “Buenos dias!  Pancakes with well done bacon and a coffee?”  

“Uum, yeah, thanks.”  He recognized the server from his previous visits.  She always seemed too friendly and phony to him.

The server entered the order into the computer and brought him his coffee after a few minutes.  He picked up the mug, closed his eyes and took a deep breath inhaling the fumes.  He kept his eyes closed for a few deep breathes and then slowly opened them only to find the dark haired beauty on his right looking at him again. 

“Smells good doesn’t it?”  She said with a light laugh.  She was mesmerizing- he’d never seen such exotic beauty before. 

“Oh yeah, I like their coffee.” 

“It’s the best in the neighborhood.  I’m already on my third cup.  My friend, Rita, who just went to the washroom, is a real coffee snob.  She always insists that we come here on Sundays.  But I’m not complaining!”  She laughed.

Tyler let out a small laugh too while trying to steady himself.  Girls had always made him nervous, but this one especially so.

“My name is Maria.”  She said offering him her hand.

“Uh, Tyler.”  He replied taking her hand meekly.  

“That’s a nice name.  Where are you from?”

“Michigan.”

“Michigan’s a big place- what part?”

“Up north, Traverse City.  Do you know Michigan?”

        

“A little bit- Traverse City, is that near Petoskey?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“I’m sure it’s really beautiful up there.  I’ve always wanted to go to Petoskey and see Hemingway country.  I studied literature and gender studies in college and wrote my thesis on Hemingway’s archetype of the male in society seen through his fiction.  Many of his short stories take place up there.”

“Really?”  Tyler didn’t really understand what she had said about her thesis, but was surprised to hear this nonetheless.  He knew that Hemingway had lived in northern Michigan, but never read the stories.  He also never went to college.  He saw himself as just a typical blue-collar country boy.

“I’ve always wanted to visit, but still haven’t made it.  The nature must be so overpowering and peaceful at the same time.”  Maria said.

“Yes, it is.  It’s the most beautiful place on earth, but it’s hard to find good work there these days.  That’s why I’m here in Chicago now.”  Tyler’s nervousness was fading as Maria’s warmth enveloped him.  She was like a comforting light in the distance on a dark night, something to hold on to.

“I’m afraid good paying work is hard to find anywhere these days.  I have a masters and just had to move because I couldn’t afford my rent.”

“Making friends I see?” Rita interjected as she returned to her seat.  “Hello, I’m Rita.”  She said reaching across Maria and offering her hand to Tyler.

“Tyler, thank you.”  He said looking down as he took her hand into his sweaty one and gave it a very weak shake. 

“Tyler’s from northern Michigan.  Just outside of Hemingway country.”  Maria said as she turned to Rita.  “We were just talking about it.”

Tyler felt the need to move, the walls were closing in on him.  He quickly got up, “I will be right back.  Excuse me.”

He made his way to the bathroom in the back, locked the door and threw some cold water on his face.  He looked at himself in the mirror- You come to this restaurant ten times and no one says a word to you and now today, you’re welcomed by a beautiful Mexican!?  What’s happening?!?!  This cannot be real- He told himself in a panic.

After some minutes, Tyler was making his way back to the counter.  The girls were still there and smiled as he approached. 

“We thought we scared you away!”  Maria said, still smiling at him with her warm eyes.  He smiled back and immediately looked at his seat and backpack.  He was surprised he absentmindedly left it there unattended for so long.  His pancakes were already on the counter waiting.  He sat and drank his coffee greedily while looking at the plate of food.  Relax, breathe, he told himself.   

“Your food just arrived.  Good timing.”  Maria interjected into his thoughts.

“Uh, great, but I’ve got to make a phone call,” He told the girls and quickly made his way through the crowded restaurant and out to the street.  

Once outside, he walked jerkily away from the doorway while pulling out his phone.  His hands were shaking and his heart was racing as he dialed the number.  The last thing he remembered was gasping for a big breath just before he triggered the bomb in his backpack on the floor, next to the beautiful Maria and her friend Rita, having brunch in the bustling La Casita café.

###

 

Subscribe to my Blog by Email:  If you would like to receive an email letting you know when I post (usually around once a week), please send an email to: libertinereflections@gmail.com with the word "Subscribe" in the subject line and I'll add you to the list.  Get on board and don't miss a post! 

###