Martyna helped me find a hostel right across the street called Dream Hostel which looked pretty ghetto when you walked in but was super clean and warm when you actually got inside. I was greeted by Nika, a petite blonde with the typical blues eyes that most Ukrainians possess. She laughed more than she spoke in almost spastic manner. We made paper snowflakes and watched movies with the rest of the guests until 03:30. My paper snowflake was the best one in the house, guaranteed.
The next day I met Shawn (http://www.saintfacetious.com) at the Ukrainian fast-food joint called Puzata Khata where they served a myriad of dumplings, sausages, meats, crepes, borsch and other great Ukrainian food for cheap. The beer was 10 grivna, which is about a dollar, for a pint. Good deal. We went with a few people from our respective hostels and ate much more than necessary while drinking a few pints to boot before heading out to see some of Kiev.
That night we decided to check out a Georgian restaurant for some delicious dumplings that Georgians are renown for. I left my hostel with three other dudes: Jerome from France, Fabio from Italy and David from the Yukon. After loosing David and meeting up with Lera, we went to Plata 6, the same hospital-themed bar where the waitresses wore nurse outfits that you would find in a sex-shop. Not that I'm complaining. The place was jammed, so my two hostel buddies, Lera and I were stuck standing at the bar while we waited for Shawn and his red-headed friend to show up. She and Lera went to the same university so they got along fine in Ukrainian once they showed up. We pounded back our drinks before the staff kicked us out; they had place a “reserved” sign right on the bar in front of us. Very subtle. While we packed up, I overheard some Americans speaking so I went up to them and started talking. I asked them where they were from in the states. When they asked me where I was from I told them to guess. “New York, Maine, Florida” they started. “Nope,” I replied as I pointed to my vintage Habs shirt with the “CA” logo. “Oh! California!” “Nope.” “Colorado?” “No, why do you just assume that I'm American?” I asked. “....” “I'm from Montreal” “....” “Canada” “Oh! Cool...”
We left the Americans in their dazzled state and called some cabs to take us to the Georgian restaurant. Jerome started teaching me some salsa moves before we got to the restaurant. The place was posh. Real nice. Shawn tried to order in Georgian but none of the waiters or waitresses knew a word. Hmmmm. We let Shawn order anyway and the table was soon filled with delicious dishes, from meat and cheese pie, to flatbread topped with oven-baked cheese, two big plates of dumplings and a nice walnut-dressed salad.
We ate and ate until there was only one dumpling left. It felt awkward to have that poor thing left alone for so long. After an excruciating time I asked if anyone was interested in it. Nobody was, so I slurped it up. The Georgians say that the way to eat these toddler-fist-sized marvels of culinary achievement is like you would kiss a beautiful woman. It's true. If you just chomp down on the dumpling its delicious juices would just spill out onto your fingers and plate, causing an embarrassing loss of deliciousness and a mess to boot. The right way of doing it is to pick up the dumpling by it's crown, part your lips, rolling the edges outwards and upwards, stick out your tongue so that the tip of it is resting right in between your upper and lower teeth, place the bottom edge of the dumpling's flesh against both lips and tongue and then slowly suck on it until the skin of the dumpling ruptures and a hot gush of liquid fills the inside of your mouth. Once the liquid is sufficiently drained you can then bite into the dumpling at your own pace; either downing it in one big bite or nibbling at it like a civilized person. I just gulp it down in one big bite, barbarian style.
I went to pay the bill with my visa as I only had a few grivnas left. Shawn told me it should be around five-hundred. I got the bill saw that it was a whopping one-thousand one-hundred plus change. I looked at the bill and saw a seven portion entry equaling over half the bill. I called him over. “What's this? Seven orders of dumplings? I thought it was only two.” “Yeah, me too...” He started talking to the waiters and we figured out that one order was three dumplings. We had twenty. “Where's the twenty-first dumpling?” I asked. “Well... you asked for twenty” said the waiter. A quick little math equation in my head later and I said “At over two euros a dumpling you better believe that I expect to get every one I pay for...” but it was just to jab him. I was more upset at the overall cost of the place rather than the fact that one dumpling never made it out of the kitchen and into my mouth.
We ended up going home by foot and I decided to take the elevator up to dream hostel this time. It was a tiny little Soviet style elevator, where two people would have to stand very close together to fit inside and you would be wondering if it would make the climb the whole time you are inside. Scary things are my weakness so I asked Lera if she wanted to ride in it with me. It was perfect.
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