In the end, it’s the blueberries that do it — the final, rococo touch to the most elaborate piña colada I’ve ever encountered. Certainly, the only one I’ve drunk in a city under regular missile and drone attack.
“That’s quite the set-up,” I say, lifting the vessel, which is, I think, meant to resemble a pineapple.
“Yeah. Fuck Russia,” the barmaid replies, laughing.
“Fuck Russia indeed,” I add. Nearby, another bartender is setting a drink on fire.
It is June 2023, and I’m in Kyiv, in a bar called Loggerheads. It is a dark basement space and entry requires giving a password to the doorman — not as a wartime precaution or to prevent Russian infiltration, but because people think it’s cool.
Outside, an air raid siren wails. Thousands of feet overhead, Iranian-designed Russian drones are chirruping away, trying to kill us.
But it’s also summer and the weather is good. People are in T-shirts, shorts and shorter dresses. Despite the drones, despite the bombs, despite the endless death, the people of Ukraine go about their lives.
To read the rest of this article, become a member for free.