The first rule of living abroad is that whenever anyone invites you to something, you say yes.
Among the many pieces of advice I received before relocating to Ukraine, this one has proved the most useful. When you’re new in town, making friends is as essential as finding a home, a job and fresh fruit and vegetables. Possibly more important than that last one, since I met great people within a few days, but the print-your-own-bar-code system in my local shop took me a good two weeks to master.
So far, following that advice has led me to several great museums, introduced me to the brilliant folk-punk stylings of Vopli Vidopliassova (the accordion solos were epic), and to an underground bar named Palata No. 6 (Ward No. 6), where it’s apparently normal to shoot a fireball from the top of someone’s head. Seriously.
Like many bars in Kyiv, Palata No. 6 is hidden in the kind of badly lit, central courtyard that makes me feel like I’m trespassing on private property. With no sign, the crowd outside is the only indicator that you’re in the right place.
For anyone who didn’t spot the Anton Chekhov reference in the bar’s name, it’s taken from one of his short stories, set inside a mental asylum. As a result, the interior design can best be described as hospital grunge, with whitewashed walls, nurse uniforms and shots served in test tubes. In itself, this just lends novelty value to a bar that could sell itself equally well on excellent drinks, food and prices…but then, there’s the fire thing.
Our night began tamely enough with some test tube vodka shots. We started with plain (pleasant), moved on to chili (painful), and were debating what a concoction of Baileys, Kahlua and Absinthe might taste like when a whistle blew. Loudly. Turning around, we saw the bartender indicate in no uncertain terms that we might want to move further away from the bar, before all the lights went out.
What happened next would traumatize a health and safety officer for life. At the bar, a line of thrill-seekers sat dressed in round metal helmets and bulky jackets, knocking back shots.
After matching them drink-for-drink, the bartender placed a cloth on the top of each helmet, casually leaned over, and set each one alight. One more shot and a forceful exhale was all it took for him to send a giant fireball shooting from each helmet across the width of the room.
Once the applause died down, the performance ended with the bartender extinguishing each flame by hitting it (and the person beneath it) repeatedly with a silver keg. Dangerous? Yes. Impressive? Very. Suitably representative of Kyiv’s nightlife? Only time will tell.
