Book 2. For the purposes of transparency and verisimilitude it came to be that I had to go home to Connecticut for two weeks for a perceived family emergency which ended up not being an emergency at all. Rather, it can only be described as a miscommunication, or lack of communication altogether, that can only truly be blamed on the predatory nature of the American Healthcare Complex. This is all I care to say on the matter, but you should know that I flew from New York back to Kiev, skiplagging to get to that destination despite booking another seat to Budapest. You are now caught up.
The 322 bus to Kiev’s central train station is cheap and almost full when I board just after 7 am. Needless to say, I am exhausted after not sleeping the whole expedited eastbound night. I decide to first search out my hostel, drop off my bags, and then continue through the typical must-sees of Kiev to get back into the swing of being a full-time tourist.
When I arrive at the hostel, however, plans change. The owner happily lets me into my room, shows me my bed, and gives me my key for the lockbox. When everything is secured, I climb on the top bunk to make my bed, and once I encase my pillow—setting my head down to test it—I fall into a deep sleep and fail to awake before early afternoon. I peel myself off my bed and change into my home-washed clothes, setting off to Andriyivsky Descent, home to scenic St. Andrew’s Church and various tchotchke-hawking street vendors. For lunch, I stop into cafeteria chain Puzata Hata and finally eat Chicken Kiev in the city for which it is named.
I am slated to awake early, and I have already napped so I seek out a joint with WiFi to write and study. The only place that satisfies these requirements is Domino’s Pizza. Their business is primarily take-out, so the only people sitting with me are the ever-cycling Igors and Olgas who appear and disappear on the giant order completion screen. I sip juice, pulled from a fridge behind the counter, and tap the old Samsung-Corona until darkness falls over Kiev like a wrought iron veil; I walk back through the train station to my hostel. Despite dudes snoring and my lengthy jetlag snooze, I fall asleep and awake early enough to grab a croissant before boarding the Belavia flight to Minsk.
Victor Bernabei is just another millenial travel blogger. But here's the twist: He isn't a millenial! His goal is to see as many countries as he can, and spread the message that the world is not as scary as the news wants you to believe, and that there is beauty in all people, places and things.