What first springs to mind when you hear the name Kiev?
Capital of the Ukraine? You’re right, of course. Some might think of the 1986 Chernobyl disaster, one of the worst nuclear accidents in history. If pop culture is your thing, Kiev might mean the venue of the 2005 Eurovision Song Contest. Into politics? Perhaps the Orange Revolution of 2004 comes to mind? Images of the swollen, pockmarked face of former President Viktor Yushchenko after he suffered dioxin poisoning at the hands of political enemies? Or perhaps the beautiful former Prime Minister, Yulia Tymoshenko, who always seems to be sporting braids?
The Golden domes of Kiev
I’m here to see the unusual, beautiful golden domes. I only have a babysitter for a day and a half, so with only 24 hours in town, there’s no time to waste. After leaving my little overnight bag in my Kiev hotel, I immediately hit the city’s wide avenues, eagerly looking up.
My hotel is located right across the street from Maidan Nezalezhnosti, Independence Square. The heart of Kiev is full of banks, shops, cafes and restaurants, pretty fountains, a waterfall even – and the tall Independence Column. Archangel Mikhail, Kiev’s patron saint, looks out on his city from the top of the column.
One of the many fountains symbolise the founders of the city, the legendary Libed and her three brothers Kie, Schek and Horiv.
Kiev’s pretty main avenue is very busy. It’s pedestrianised during weekends, and traffic is even busier then, I’m told, as absolutely everyone is out walking. I don’t know – hopping between cars like a crazy game of Frogger, I find that hard to believe. Then, luckily, I discover an underpass.
The underpasses double as underground shopping centres, with a curious mix of hawkers selling cigarettes individually from camping tables, and high-end boutiques. In fact, the selection of luxuries is astonishing. As is the ATM-to-humans ratio; somewhat disturbing considering this is one of Europe’s poorest countries.
I wander aimlessly (but always looking up), past the Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv and Shevchenko Park, full of joggers, chess players and people sitting on benches, reading books. I do a mental time travel, pretending it’s 1915. That young man sitting over there could well the the famous novelist Mikhail Bulgakov, author of The Master and Margarita, by many considered to be one of the greatest novels of the 20th century.
St Sophia and St Michael
Rounding a corner, I glimpse my first golden dome between the chestnut trees. It’s St. Sophia. On UNESCO’s list of World Heritage sites, this 11th-century cathedral has thirteen shining domes and a tall blue bell tower.
Just down a short street, the heavenly blue St Michael’s Cathedral is not as tall, but just as gorgeous—with bright, vivid murals and more golden domes.
I can’t decide which of the two cathedrals I prefer. Michael, the Archangel, Prince of the Seraphim – or Sophia, Priestess of Divine Wisdom. Pondering this for a while, it dawns on me. Sophia and Michael simply belong together. And the little street between them is the silver thread connecting their souls. (How’s that from a sober, secular Scandinavian?)
Kyiv-Pechersk Lavra – Monastery of the Caves
Early next morning I’m in the courtyard of Kyiv-Pechersk Lavra (also called Kievo-Pecherska Lavra) – Monastery of the Caves. Golden domes abound! When the Cathedral of the Dormition was restored after having been “razed to the ground by an explosion of terrible force” in 1941, it took nine kilos of leaf gold to gild its domes and crosses, according to my book Kiev: Architecture History.
Entrance to the monastery is through Trinity Gate. From 1106, it’s adorned with images of saints and topped with a cross.
This is August, Europe’s prime holiday season. Lavra is the principal sight in Kiev; hordes will no doubt soon rush in. But for now, I’m the only one here, apart from five pigeons pecking on a sticky bun that has miraculously escaped the sweeper. All I hear is the belfry chime, the soft rustle of the fountains and the wind whispering through the trees.
Like St Sophia, Caves is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. I don’t know if UNESCO has rules about on site ATMs, but this monastery has one immediately inside the entrance. It’s tastefully hidden inside a room with an open door, but impossible to miss.
A large compound, more than 11 hectares, this is very much a living monastery. Along the Upper Lavra, monks’ dormitories line the courtyard.
The heady scent of roses emanates from a small bed; elsewhere apple trees and sunflowers vy for space. Around every corner, another golden dome gleams in the early morning sunshine. A young man with a baby stroller negotiates his way down a steep street paved with ancient stone slabs, leading to Lower Lavra. Further down, the river Dniepr floats lazily by.
A green sign says KABA, and I’m soon drinking strong Ukrainian coffee by the Exhibition Hall, gazing at vendors laying out their wares: embroidered table clothes, blouses, souvenir icons and books are for sale. Apparently, there’s nothing wrong with doing business on holy grounds here either. I think someone might have a word or two to say about this practice, though. An episode comes to mind of him entering the temple area and driving out all who were buying and selling there. Something about overturning the tables of moneychangers and the benches of those selling doves, isn’t it? But what do I know; this particular part of the gospels may be modernised by now – as opposed to, say, views on homosexuality. But I digress.
All of a sudden everything seems to wake up. The courtyard quickly fills up. I hear guides speaking in Russian, Portuguese and Dutch. All around, monks are working. One is painting window lattices, another washes a wall. Yet another is pruning a pink azalea whilst talking on his mobile. And yet another, exhausted from taking out the rubbish, plonks his large frame on a bench with an audible sigh.
It’s time to see the main attraction, the Caves – a necropolis for the saints of the ancient state of Kievan Rus. People have come to the Caves on pilgrimages for more than 1000 years. In one of the churches above the caves, people are queuing to receive blessings or advice from two grey-haired monks in black robes and beards. They look quite patriarchal. I spot the young father once more, now carrying his sleeping child, patiently awaiting his turn in the queue.
Without warning, the locks of heaven opens and I’m pelted with buckets of rain. People don’t seem to mind much; some dig out umbrellas, but most just get on with their business. Everywhere, people are making the sign of the cross and kissing relics. To enter the churches, women have to cover their heads, while men, curiously, have to uncover theirs.
Inside yet another church, people are buying candles and donning black robes. Perhaps this is the mysterious caves, at last? I latch on to a Russian group. My Russian is limited, so I just tag along, doing what everyone else does. Briefly, I wonder why everyone buys two candles. Then I get it. Descending the narrow stairway to the caves, a candle is extinguished by a rush of air. I keep lighting one with the other.
The narrow, white-washed catacombs feels serene. Along the walls are mummified monks in glass caskets, dressed in green and gold robes. Mostly just the robes are visible, but here and there a mummified hand protrudes, darkened by the years. I, being morbidly curious, lean over every casket, looking for body parts.
Others have more reverent errands. Teenagers, loud and playful on the outside, now humbly kiss the relics. One woman kneels before a casket, kissing it and muttering a prayer. As the tunnels are rather narrow, about 1 ½ metres wide, the rest of us wait patiently while she completes her ritual. No one seems to mind. To my surprise, I don’t either. It takes some winding down, some peace and quiet, to appreciate the atmosphere down here with these dead monks – men who devoted their lives to something they believed in. That’s not a contemporary concept, and all the more deserving of respect, perhaps. It’s very touching.
St Andrew’s Descent
Andriyivski uzviz means St. Andrew’s Descent, indicating how this quaint, twist-and-turn cobblestone street should be negotiated. There’s even a funicular so you don’t have to do St. Andrew’s Ascent. My advice is to wear trainers, but Ukrainian girls wouldn’t give two red cents for that piece of good sense. It looks rather strange to watch them wobble down the cobbles in 7-inch heels. On the other hand, I don’t see anyone falling.
The Descent has often been equated with Montmartre in Paris. It’s certainly a charming street, old and picturesque, filled with galleries, cafés and museums, including the house of Mikhail Bulgakov. Also, the Descent has its own museum, the quaintly named Museum of One Street. But the stunning St. Andrew’s Cathedral is the chef d’oeuvre, the masterpiece.
Artists sell their work and street vendors peddle matroshkas and various wooden artefacts, Che Guevara T-shirts and much more. Halfway down, I stop at the cosy Chumatskiy Dvir and have a delicious grilled forest-mushroom sandwich. A café cat stretches languidly on a chair, not caring one bit about my attempts to get her attention. When I get up to leave, she tags along.
Before coming to Kiev, I heard claims of assorted scams, attempted robberies and various other horror stories. Well…, I never felt unsafe and I’m not even particularly vigilant, walking down a dark alley or two. After I left a cafe, a teenage boy came running after me, handing back my wallet which I had stupidly left behind.
In short, nothing bad happened, except having to crowd like a tinned sardine in the bus going to Kiev Boryspil airport, stuck under the smelly armpit of a tall man with a huge, annoying lipoma on his elbow, just screaming for a quick rendezvous with a scalpel.
So that was my time in Kiev. 24 hours well spent, if I do say so.
Kiev has much more to offer, of course
Flights to Kiev can be bought for next to nothing, so chances are I’ll come back for a closer look at the Ukrainian capital. If I do, this is what I want to explore:
- The House with Chimeras, for a look at interesting architecture and freaky sculptures
- Vladimirskaya Gorka, a park with old pavilions, believed to be a spiritual place with magic at work
- The art museums (both the Ukrainian and the Russian one), and the war museum
- The Kiev Opera and Ballet Theater
I will probably also get out of town and visit Babiy Yar, a ravine where 60 000 people were executed during World War II, and of course Chernobyl.
If I bring my daughters, I will probably also check out the Children’s Railway, an educational remnant of the country’s Soviet past. It’s not a model, but a narrow gauge railway for real train travel. This is where teenagers learnt the professions of the railway. Today, it’s more of an entertaining outing, I expect, but children (9 – 15) still work as train drivers and conductors.
This is an excerpt of my article Golden Kiev on Boots’n'All.
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