Date: 2008-12-29. Tags: drains, flaps, kiev, ukraine, underground

[updated, more pics soon]

Kiev's systems are mostly free of sanitary pollutants, which will raise or lower their attractiveness depending on your sewerfresh-hold and preference. The drain gods, sensing my thirst for the fresh and her buoyant bloody delights, rectified this discrepancy by placing a Scandinavian girl in our dorm room. Unable to sleep in the heat I woke early one morning to find the unashamed, topless girl curled up on her side, facing away from me with the covers thrown back. Her ass cheeks were split by a g-string, creasing a gleaming white sanitary pad right down the middle so the wings flapped uselessly in the air. Unimpressed with the Sewerfresh god's offering I rolled into the wall, mashed my face into the pillow and fell asleep. Just give me a torrent of regular good ol' excrement already.

The Big D
Speaking of pressurised streams of shit it was about this stage we learned of the insidious killer lurking everywhere around us: The Big D. Since the hostel had only one bathroom it was customary to leave the door open while cleaning your teeth or say, getting a drink of water. I looked up from a mouthful of water to find a horrified woman staring at me, her mouth absent mindedly flapped up and down while her brain searched for words.

"You CAN'T drink the water, i-i-i-it's not safe, you'll get DYSENTERY!" she wailed. Generally the hysterical drivel of insane women holds little merit but irrespective of scientific proof or logic the seed was planted none the less. Both Flame and Siologen were happy to nurture it, constantly. At every opportunity they'd taunt both qx and I because apparently they'd BOTH been avoiding the water without telling us.

"How many times have you washed your teeth with the water?"
"Everyday, surely that's okay though. It's toothpaste, it's designed to kill nasty shit! That is toothpastes' reason for being."

So the paranoia began, it would last for the next 3 weeks.




Nikolaj
Bright and early siologen, qx, flame and I met the Diggers Radovar, Tonia and friends (again apologies for my memory) and felt immediately amongst kindred spirits. In a small grassed area beside an expressway we sat donning our drainer tech, comparing the differences in garb. Many of the Diggers wore Himza (Chemical Defense), essentially chest high waders made of a pliable plastic with a tough soled 'overboot' which goes, as the name might suggest, over regular shoes. Tonia, clearly speleo inspired/inclined, donned knee and butt padding also. Many of the Diggers wore bandanas on their head so lil ds felt right at home. We entered into Nikolaj feeling the most insane hot-cold differential of any drain I've hit. My nutsack (the anatomical one) sucked itself immediately into my butt for warmth. Normally I have to pay someone for that.


pic: siologen


pic: siologen

Inside was a mash of tunnels formed by interlocking concrete trapezoids, rcp and square concrete, plus a giant shaft raining what smelt and tasted like regular water. One section was comprised of well constructed 4-way intersections reminiscent  of the catacombs with an undulating floor falling in all directions, like no space designed for drainage should. We also encountered these small junction vestibules, with odd hemispherical wood-lined ceilings. Our first eastern European drain def set the benchmark for weird with ease.


pic: siologen


pic: siologen


Water Supply Tunnels
Back in the Soviet era Stalin built backup water supply tunnels under Kiev. The tunnels which house the dual pipes are a long painful walk for those wearing only flipflops inside their Himza. The tunnels are flooded knee deep in some sections concealing various metal protrusions on the floor eager to munch aforementioned flipflop wearers. If your himza have become perforated one tends to accumulate fluid, which sloshes up the inside. Infact one would remain equally dry by not wearing them at all.



The last 50m of tunnel features a small makeshift rollercoaster, a maintenance cart sitting on inclined tracks. The tracks shake like a bastard and the cart will rattle the fillings from your teeth. The tunnel terminates in a tall shaft constructed of cast iron rings bolted together, much like a London Tube tunnel stood upright. Water rains down the shaft and the iron has rusted into brittle palm sized flakes. It was Confluence all over again. Siologen and Radovar headed back down the tunnel towards our initial entrance, the rest of us took hold of the rings and began to climb towards the daylight.



Klov
The Diggers ritually meet at the outfall of Klov for serious-business drainer type conversation, lubricated by liberal servings of vodka. Not to insult our guests we partook, Siologen more eagerly than most. Blitzed on vodka, surrounded by those who share our passion he would raise his bottle and yell proudly to whoever was listening (and everyone in the neighbourhood who wasn't) "I LOVE COLLECTORS" in English, French, Russian and Ukrainian. At that moment we were not knee-deep or ball-deep but clearly, we were once more in our element. From Australia to London to Kiev somethings will always be the same.

Our last underground journey in Kiev began at venue of the previous night's soiree, the outfall of Klov. The outfall is decorated with a plaque made by the Diggers to commemorate an explorer's death. We sploshed up the concrete tunnels past more features than I can recall but included waterfalls, gorgeous brick and crumbling stone. A shit description I know, blame the Ukrainian vodka. On and on was walked, then stooped, then almost crawled as the locals urged us onwards, claiming there could be an exit ahead... maybe. Swarming with mosquitoes this section became a game of 'see who can keep their torch off the longest'. Woe be upon he who turned on his lamp and drew the skeeter swarm's ire. If the water had the Big D, the drain skeeter's brought the Big P(lague).

Further and further we trekked up the increasingly painful tunnel, until it was obvious our hosts were taking the piss, "it must only be a little further" they urged every couple of minutes until finally we stopped below a manhole that resembled every other damn manhole we'd seen. At the top of the shaft I stopped, peaked and squinted at the dazzling lights all around us. "Could be an exit" my arse, this was fucking Independence Square, the centre of Kiev, the main square of the city. Bemused hotel security and drunken revelers looked on as we climbing out the manhole like clowns from a clown car. First one person, then another and another and another until finally we all assembled wet tired and grinning.



Departure
The following day we departed under a dark cloud, fresh from arguing with the hostel owner about the beds which had clearly been stolen from an orphanage - the marked max weight limit was 90kg and qx climbed into bed one night and rained wooden slats down on me; the hot water which didn't work for half the week; paying the equivalent of AUD35/night for a place without even kitchen facilities... culminating with the proprietor taking offense to our observations and closing our discussion with the ever laughable response "buddy I'm the wrong guy to fuck with". Why anyone so anti-social would operate a hostel in an industry centered around providing lodgement to travelers is beyond my comprehension.



Otherwise Kiev was a right riot. Big thanks to Solncasvet, Nitsche, Radovar, Tonia and all the people we met, hung out with and explored with. Our lucky visa streak evaporated at Borispol airport and qx will no doubt elaborate but suffice to say 150 eurobucks later we ran to departure to board a plane, destination: Motherfucking Moscow. Booyah!

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